


4 millimetres

by owlsshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asahi is a sweetheart, BL, Daichi is strict but cute, Enemies to Lovers, High School, Karasuno and Johzenji are the same school here, M/M, Teru has it tough, Teru's mom is a tattoo artist, Underage Smoking, Witty Comebacks, and not so witty ones, because I am so good at naming things, named Karasuji, public morals committee vs delinquent volleyball captain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terushima Yuuji, 17-year-old up-and-coming volleyball captain has a few bad habits. It is not really his hobby to cross ways with the public morals committee, though he admittedly enjoys every clash he has with vice-chairman Shimizu; it’s just in his nature to not to comply with regulations. Being late is inevitable anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was highly influenced by the wonderful sketchblob and their even more wonderful [terudai fanart](http://sketchblob.tumblr.com/post/136003313834/this-sort-of-ended-as-an-au-where-daichi-is-a)
> 
> English is not my first language but I manage :D (please bear with me^^)

4 millimetres

1/

 

Should Terushima ever wonder whether he gets to school in time, the five-man standing committee at the school gates will give him an answer beforehand. He knows the names of the regular public morals committee members by heart by now: Shimizu, the beautiful and strict vice-chairman, Sugawara, the pretty boy who holds the kind of shady position of treasurer (why does the public morals committee need a treasurer anyways?), Ennoshita, the nightmare of every second-year, Kageyama, the overeager freshman and finally Sawamura, the unbending stonewall of a chairman.

It is not really his hobby to cross ways with the committee, though he admittedly enjoys every clash he has with the vice-chairman; it’s just in his nature not to comply with regulations. Being late is inevitable anyways.

On Mondays he tends to glance towards Shimizu with his best puppy eyes to get his scolding from her. On Tuesdays, he plays a game of epic stare-off with Ennoshita, and even if he tends to lose most of the times, it makes him think that he at least tried. On Wednesdays he sends his puppy eyed looks towards the softy treasurer, and Sugawara tends to let him go. On Thursdays he runs from Kageyama who chases him down the corridors to deliver his warning anyways. Fridays are the worst though. On Fridays, the whole committee stands by the gates checking each and every student, and those found guilty of originality are brought before the chairman himself for his verdict. Especially, if they are late.

“Look at yourself, Terushima,” Sawamura starts his preaching as the other members of the committee help the janitor close up the gates and walk away towards their respective school wings. Terushima stands face-to-face with his nemesis. Their 4 millimetres of height difference is not even noticeable. Yet, knowing he is taller than the other guy makes him feel superior.

(To acquire the information on the committee chairman’s height he had to bribe the school nurse, and it makes him exceptionally proud that he was able to do so.)

“I don’t have a mirror on hand,” Terushima replies. Sawamura sends him a look that could easily equal with a knock on the head any time.

“Will you ever try to comply with the school regulations?” he asks finally with a sigh.

Terushima shakes his head and takes his backpack off to lay it on the ground between his legs. According to his past experiences, this scolding might take some time.

He knows that his looks are quite different from what is desirable for a model student; once Sawamura made him read the regulations out aloud in front of several people at this very place, hence he remembers all of its points quite well. But he likes himself this way. His blonde hair, his piercings, his way of wearing the uniform… it’s all part of his existence, and he is not willing to change it anyways.

 “Suppressing self-expression is bad for my emotional growth,” he proclaims.

“I am not telling you to walk around straight-laced day and night. What I am asking of you is to respect the rules while you are on school grounds. You can wear whatever you’d like to once you leave these gates. Just while you are inside, take off your piercings and tie your necktie right.”

“Where is my ‘please’?”

“I am not asking you a favour. This is an order,” Sawamura says unfazed.

“Oh, I see,” Terushima says. “I might just follow it then, I assume?”

“Right assumption.”

“But you see, I really cannot take off my piercing. This is a flesh tunnel. There is an open hole here, you see?” he grabbed his ear to pull his piercing closer to the eyes of the committee chairman. “The expander I use now is rather fresh. It’s finally an 8 millimetre one! If I take this out now, the perimeter of the hole might shrink so much in a day that I will have to do the whole process of enlarging it again…”

“You are not very convincing,” says Sawamura.

“Oh, come on. It’s just a piercing.”

“It’s the school rule.”

“Uptight prick,” Terushima utters under his breath as he crouches down to grab his bag befor running off.

“Hey, you…” he hears the committee chairman hissing after him, but Sawamura is not chasing him like Kageyama would. He never chases him. He comes back at him in the most unpredictable ways.

People fear Sawamura Daichi. In general people try not to make the committee chairman angry. It’s not like Terushima enjoys making him angry either. He would love to make vice-chairman, Shimizu, angry. He would enjoy getting caught by her. Yet, for some weird reason, it’s always Sawamura. Be it a smoke on the rooftop or a little sneak out from afternoon classes, the one who catches him is always the chairman. In addition he seems to catch him more and more often.

Terushima sneaks into his classroom without the teacher noticing it. He plops down into his chair and pokes the side of Bobata beside him.

“Anything I missed?” he asks, quickly glancing out of the window while Bobata whispers him back.

He is in time to catch the moment Sawamura enters the wing of the third years. All buttoned up, necktie promptly done. Lame, short, natural dark brown hair. No piercings or accessories ever.

Boring.

*

Fourth period finds Terushima on the rooftop of the second-year wing.

He selects which classes to ditch with careful deliberation. Afternoon electives, like drawing class, are kind of obvious. Apart from those he skips some of his modern history classes, the teacher is a real bore; and the mathematics in the fourth period on Friday. Because on Friday, Ennoshita takes advanced English classes, so he is not on the lookout for people skipping. Terushima takes pride in his timing.

He rummages through his pockets to find a cigarette and his box of matches, which he prefers over a lighter. He leans his back against the door of the rooftop – partly to support his back and partly to prevent anyone from coming out– and lights his cigarette.

“We have nice weather today.”

“Right?” he replies blowing out a puff of smoke with a sigh. It takes him at least two seconds to register that he is not alone. “Wait, wha– Futamata? And Numajiri?!”

“Told you his reaction was going to be priceless,” Numajiri laughs settling himself on the side of Terushima.

“Never thought his eyes could be this big,” says Futamata cackling, positioning himself in front of the other two as he sits down cross-legged.

“How did you get here?” asks Terushima.

“Sensei got sick. We have free study,” explains Numajiri.

“We were here before you, but hid when someone opened the door. Thought it was a teacher,” elaborates Futamata.

“You should seriously look around before you start to smoke,” continued Numajiri. “What if someone else was here…?”

“Like a teacher or someone from the public morals committee? Oh come on, don’t be such a worrywart,” Terushima laughs, offering his smoke to his friends. Numajiri accepts it taking the lit cigarette from Terushima’s hand and takes a sip. “Anyways, why are you guys here?”

Numajiri mis-swallows and starts coughing like crazy.

“The nurse’s office was occupied,” Futamata says with an innocent face.

“… I see,” Terushima says after a pause. Numajiri keeps on choking. Futamata glances from Terushima to Numajiri and back, his clever dark eyes filled with concern. Then suddenly he slaps his palms to his thighs cheerfully.

“So, I heard you were caught by the demon this morning!” he calls out to Terushima.

The blonde cannot help but notice how Numajiri sends an appreciative look towards Futamata. He decides not to pry more into the affairs of his friends and just go with the flow.

“You mean Sawamura?” he asks.

“Who else?”

“Yeah… well, I was kinda late…”

“So? What happened?” asks Futamata enthusiastically.

“Just the usual. He wanted me to take off my piercings.”

“Aaand?”

“I did not.”

“That doesn’t sound very interesting,” Numajiri says passing the cigarette back to its original owner.

“Yeah, well… I guess the more interesting stuff happens in the nurse’s office, huh?” Terushima winks at them. Numajiri winces in reaction, but pretends that his eyes are hurt from the sunlight.

“I wonder where the school nurse goes at times like these…” Futamata says leaning back.

“She might be corruptible,” Numajiri sighs.

“Then it’s just a matter of bribe,” Terushima adds. (No, he never told the others about him bribing the nurse to get Sawamura’s data, and no, he does not plan on sharing this information ever.)

((He would never admit that he takes pride in that 4 millimetres height difference they have.))

(((Not that those 4 millimetres matter that much. No one would notice it anyways.)))

When the bell rings they walk down nonchalantly and enter their respective classrooms as if nothing happened. Terushima grabs his bag and hunts out his cologne from it. He sneaks into one of the restroom stalls to spray the fragrance on him in the hope of concealing the smell and then slips back to the classroom just before the teacher does.

That’s when he hears his name from the speakers that usually broadcast the school radio at lunchtime.

“Second year, class C, Terushima Yuuji-kun; second year, class C, Terushima Yuuji-kun; please come to the public morals committee’s office immediately.”

Under any other circumstance Terushima would be happy to hear his name in the beautiful voice of Shimizu Kiyoko. Now cold sweat rolls down his spine. He has a wild imagination, and it provides him better and better options about what might come now.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs as he stands up.

“Go,” their teacher nods.

Terushima walks down the corridor to reach the main building that connects the three wings of the school. This is the area where the cafeteria and most of their clubrooms are located in. The public morals committee’s office is right next to the shoe lockers by the main entrance. Terushima hesitates in front of the door before knocking.

“Come in,” he hears the immediate answer from chairman Sawamura himself.

He opens the door and enters with his head held high. They did not catch him smoking. All he did was running away from Sawamura in the morning… he is so sure that he is safe that he even lets a tiny smile glint up in the corners of his mouth as his eyes meet the public morals committee chairman’s.

The committee’s office looks like a smaller club room with one window facing the front court and the school gate. It is generously furnished with misplaced chairs who-knows-who placed across the few meters distance between the door and the desk of the chairman Sawamura is leaning against. There is another, longer table in the room as well, for the committee members to sit around while they are making up their conspiracy plans, but Terushima has no time to observe the room longer than a split second.

“So this is the inveterate delinquent you spoke about, Sawamura?” he hears a voice behind him, and his heart skips a beat. An adult. And not any adult. The man who has been standing beside the door until now walks by Terushima to sit in the chair that is usually used by the committee chairman. With his thick cologne, fake hair and terrible facial features the vice-principal is easily one of the grossest human beings Terushima has ever seen. “It’s a shame what happened with our volleyball team. Just a few years ago we went to the nationals, and now look at them… all delinquents.”

Terushima notices that Sawamura’s eyes shift from his face to his hands. He realizes that he unconsciously closed his fingers into fists.

He is well aware of the fact that the Karasuji volleyball club has some members with… unique looks. Their only third year, Azumane is often mistaken for a mob leader. The second year bunch has the threatening looking duo, Bobata and Tanaka; the wild Nishinoya, the nasty Numajiri and the devilishly cute setter, Futamata. Freshmen Hinata and Yamaguchi could send people straight to hell with their innocent smiles. Not to speak about the bleached-haired, chain-smoking coach…

But most of all, the volleyball club has flawed reputation thanks to the incident in the beginning of the school year, when a stray ball accidentally flew over the vice-principal’s wig.

And that stray ball just had to be a freshman’s bad receive of the captain’s serve. And the captain just had to be the most rebellious looking of them all.

“The volleyball club is… not full of delinquents, sir,” Terushima says, changing his tone from straight out agitated to somehow humble midways.

“With a captain like this, I rather doubt that.”

“Empty your pockets, Terushima,” says Sawamura cutting in. “If you wish to prove that you are not a delinquent, that is.”

He never chases after him. His payback comes later, precisely planned and lethal.

Empty your pockets, he said.

Terushima is well aware of the fact that his pocket has a near-empty box of cigarettes in it and strongly guesses that Sawamura Daichi knows it as well. His unuttered curses could bring a smaller village down.

A sudden click of the doorknob makes him jump a little.

„Excuse me,” sounds Shimizu Kiyoko’s voice from behind Terushima as she opens the door. She just got back from the broadcasting room accompanied by treasurer Sugawara. They slallom through the line of chairs aligned near the door and take their seats at the long table to Terushima’s right, where committee members usually sit when they have a meeting. As Terushima follows them with his eyes, he can’t help but notice that Tsukishima Kei, a freshman who decided not-to come to volleyball practice after the first week because „it’s insane hard”, is sitting comfortably at the very same table, folder in his hand, marking something on a long list, nonchalant to his surroundings.

The thought that a member he lost could be part of the committee makes him feel nauseous.

„What are you waiting for, Terushima? We don’t have all day,” nags the vice-principal.

Terushima ignores him and looks back at Sawamura instead. Such a goody-two-shoes. He looks so boring. There is not even a spec of uniqueness about his appearance. Yet, he is a sadist unparalleled in this school.

And he, Terushima Yuuji, just had to cross paths with this annoying bastard.

„You refuse?” Sawamura asks.

„No. I will”, Terushima says, diving into his pocket and grabbing its contents, slamming them on the table where Sawamura and the vice-principal sits.

A few gum papers drop to the floor from the heap of tissue papers and crumpled handouts.

„Is this all?” the vice-principal asks.

„Yes, sir,” says Terushima, sinking his hands in his pockets again. There comes the faint rattling of his matchsticks as they shake and collide in their box. Sawamura raises his brows.

„Are you sure?” he asks amused.

Terushima weighs his chances. He either surrenders himself, giving up the matches and cigarettes hiding in the depth of his pocket (the pockets of the school uniform are insane huge), or he tries to hide them somehow. But even if he manages, what guarantees that Sawamura will not search his pockets himself? (Or, in worst case scenario, what if the vice-principal himself tries to put his fat hands into his pockets? Terushima feels sick just to the thought of it.) If cigarettes are found, he will be suspended. Probably even expelled given his record of misconduct. But really, what other choice he has? He will be found out no matter what…

“What if…?” he starts, finishing his quick assessment.

“What if what?” the vice-principal asks.

“What if I were to say that there might be further items in my pocket, but I would be unwilling to show them?” A glance at Sawamura gives him an answer faster than any words. “Nah, forget it. I admit to smoking.”

There is a tangible silence falling onto the room and the people inside it. The vice-principal starts gaping at air in dismay. Shimizu lifts her head from examining the hands of Sugawara (there, the precious little treasurer cut his finger with his very important papers); whereas, having his interest piqued, Tsukishima closes his folder to focus onto the scene unfolding before his eyes. Terushima, with his gaze still clinging onto Sawamura, tries to stop his vehement heartbeat in vain.

“ _Please, don’t get expelled_ ”, he thinks to himself. A tiny wince runs across his face at the moment Sawamura opens his mouth.

“This is not the first time it happened, so we cannot leave the case unattended.”

Terushima stands in the middle of the room unnerved, drops of sweat forming and rolling down his back. It feels as if he was in front of a court waiting for his judge to name his sentence. Under the observant eyes of Shimizu, Sugawara, Tsukishima and the vice-principal; Sawamura Daichi takes a step away from his desk to deliver verdict.

“I propose a week of suspension from school,” he says, looking Terushima in the eye and then turning back to the vice-principal; “and a month of exclusion from all club activities.”

Terushima’s sigh of relief (about not being expelled, apparently) gets stuck in his throat by the second statement of Sawamura.

“The tournament is in two weeks,” he appeals.

“The members of the volleyball team should’ve thought about this before they went out causing ruckus,” the vice-principal concludes.

“Excuse me, but… the members did nothing!” Terushima argues.

“Yet, their captain is notoriously late; he looks like a hoodlum and on top of it, he just admitted that he smokes! Not like that cheap patchouli you sprayed on yourself could mask the stench of smoke…”

This, coming from the mouth of the vice-principal whose fragrance is thick and lethal to breathe, feels so absurd that Terushima is about to burst into laughter. However, just the moment his first chuckle reaches his lips, he notices the small incriminating shaking of Sawamura’s shoulders. He tries hard to suppress laughter as well. A strange feeling of connection runs through Terushima and for a brief second he feels as if Sawamura Daichi was just a normal teenager, not a prissy prick.

Then the moment passes as aforementioned Sawamura steps even closer and lays his hand on Terushima’s shoulder grabbing him with such force that his clavicle and scapula nearly break in harmony.

“From what I see, that one week suspension is well-deserved,” says the committee chairman. (For a second Terushima considers trying to strangle Sawamura; then deems it physically impossible.) “However, I think club activities could be kind of an… incentive.”

“Interesting idea! I am listening,” says the vice-principal. Terushima tries to move out from the iron grasp of Sawamura, but the committee chairman forces him to stop moving.

“What would you do to have your exclusion from club activities lifted?” he asks from him.

“What… would I do?” Terushima asks back.

“I think one week of suspension would give him enough time to decide on his answer, vice-principal. In that one week he can think about how important volleyball is to him and what he is willing to do for it.”

“That’s the public morals committee chairman!” says the vice-principal enthusiastically. “Now I see what you meant by ‘constructive punishment system’, Sawamura, and let me tell you, I like it! I hope to see great results from it… now, if you let me, I have to head back to the teachers’ office. You kids should go back to your classes as well.”

“Not all of us has classes this period,” says Tsukishima silently.

“Ah, great then,” replies the vice-principal. “Make sure Terushima goes back to his class and does not skip again. He can start his one week of suspension tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sawamura replies. The committee members bow as the vice-principal exits, and so does Terushima thanks to the kind urging of Sawamura’s hand.

“This was spectacular,” Tsukishima says once the vice-principal is outside. “Thank you for the great show, chairman.”

“Pipe down, Tsukishima” says Sawamura. “Rather than running your mouth, you should accompany our dear Terushima back with me to his classroom.”

“Understood”, Terushima utters in harmony with Tsukishima in Sawamura’s bone-crushing grip.

*

They walk down the hallway in an uncomfortable silence. As they pass other second year classrooms, Terushima can feel the curious looks of people from other classes. Truthfully, he can understand them; he himself would do the same should he see the third year chairman of the public morals committee walking next the infamous volleyball captain and a ridiculously tall, snarky freshman.

“What is this? Some kind of walk of shame?” Tsukishima asks with a smirk. “Everyone’s staring like crazy… you must be _loved_ , senpai.

Tsukishima’s curmudgeonly behaviour is not new to Terushima; he got used to it during the few practices Tsukishima took part in. At first he thought the kid was just whiny. His complaints were nonstop during their usual three-on-three: too much running, too crazy jumps, too dangerous, too tiring. After the first week Terushima heard Tsukishima’s first and foremost reason he stuck to later on: _It’s just a club._

Why train so hard?

Why run their asses off?

Why practice a hundred serves a day?

What is the reason to be so hyped about volleyball?

_“Uselessly hot-blooded people irritate me.”_

It was probably fate that Tsukishima quit before Terushima made him do so.

“You are terribly rude”, says Sawamura just before they reach Terushima’s class.

“I can’t help it”, the younger boy shrugs his shoulders and walks ahead.

“Exceptionally, I have to agree with Tsukishima”, Terushima says silently. “This indeed feels like some walk of shame.”

“You have one week”, stops Sawamura in front of Terushima’s class. “Think about what you would do to lift your ban on club activities”

“Yes”, says the problem child.

“Good”, answers Sawamura patting Terushima on the shoulder. He turns to the direction of Tsukishima, ready to walk away. Terushima opens the door to his classroom. The teacher notices him and urges him to take his seat. It’s just as he is about to close the door that he hears Sawamura’s voice again. It’s barely audible.

“Next time think twice before calling me an uptight prick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terushima is at home and he is suffering. Then he goes out on an errand and he suffers some more. But the one who suffers the most is Daichi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done... nearly 8000 words! I really hope you will like it!^^ (there might be some mistakes because I am uploading this before the second proofread and damn, I wrote some scenes in after the first check... so yeah, those will be edited out later^^ English is still not my mothertongue so please bear with me~)

2/

 

 Terushima Yuuji is not good with boredom. It has only been a week and he already experiences the symptoms of a burnout.

He has already watched the complete series of Star Wars movies he borrowed from Futamata months ago but always forgot before; he watched the entire season of the One Punch Man anime (again) and he reread his Weekly Shounen Jumps. All of them. He even had a cleaning fit late Thursday afternoon that resulted in an even bigger mess than there originally was.

He has been checking his LINE every five minutes, in vain.  Neither Bobata, nor Numajiri has replied to his messages in days. As if his friends all got mute…

He groans in irritation.

“You are too loud, Yuuji!” comes a shout from outside his room.

“Sorry, Jii-san,” he replies.

“Don’t apologize, just get out of your room! We didn’t see your face all day!”

Terushima rolls out from his bed in ninja-like fashion, landing with both of his feet slipping inside his slippers perfectly.

“Comin’,” he mutters pulling on a T-shirt while opening the door.

“Good. But put on some pants as well,” he is greeted by his grandfather in the kitchen.

Terushima Yuusei is still not past his prime; standing tall and tanned in a short sleeved shirt by the counter pouring soda for himself; he looks more like Yuuji’s father, rather than his grandfather. His grandson takes after him in body build: they are both lean an muscular. Even though, age didn’t leave him totally unharmed, he still radiates youthfulness and he is  undoubtedly good-looking.

“How come you’re here? ” Terushima asks.

“Way to talk to your grandfather, you cheeky brat. I came home for lunch and thought I will check on you before I go back to work… and I did well. Your mother told me you have not come out of your room yet today.”

“Well I was…”

“You were?”

“Not really up to… talking to mom.”

“Oh, did she try to fulfil the promise she made last time you got suspended?” his grandpa laughs boldly.

“She is totally nuts, Jii-san! She didn’t talk to me for days and then she came to me with her full equipment yesterday!” Terushima protests.

“And?”

“I don’t deserve this, Jii-san!”

“What? I think you quite earned that tattoo to your forehead. What did she say, what will she write? Was it ‘loser’ or ‘failure?’”

“I don’t deserve you laughing at my expense either!”

“You deserve all my laughter and more. Caught-with-smokes-chan.”

“Jii-san!”

“Eat,” the man then says, holding out a box to him. “Madoka-chan prepared you a bento. She was sure that your mom will not feed you.”

“Thanks,” Terushima says humble-mouthed.

“You know, your school called your mom.”

“Eh…” Terushima utters a breath of disgust before opening the bento box.

“Don’t ‘eh’ me, kiddo. They told her that you have been notoriously skipping.”

“I just… select my classes with care.”

“This is what you tell your teachers as well?”

The sad look in his grandfather’s eyes makes him more flustered than all the things his teachers or the morals committee could ever come up with.

“I will try harder,” he gives in with a soundly huff. “If you happen to go to the shop before going to work, please tell Madoka-san that she is wonderful.”

“I told her a thousand times already. It’s your turn now to say something nice , nah?” his grandfather says as his grandson starts eating. “But first, visit your mother.”

Terushima chokes on an octopus wiener.

“I will never get out of the salon alive,” he coughs, “or tattoo-less.”

“Reconcile with her.”

“Can’t we wait with this for…?”

“No.”

“Jii-san,” Terushima pleads. His sparkly puppy eyes make no effect on his battle-trained grandfather. Bringing up two kids practically alone – Terushima’s mom and Terushima himself, as Midori was not even seventeen when she gave birth to him –made him strong against such cheap tactics.

“Yuuji,” he replies in a tone that tells Terushima that he could be begging forever, his grandpa would never let him off the hook.

“You’re no fun,” he snaps at him finally.

“I am. When I want to,” Yuusei comments. “Now, quickly finish eating and get going.”

“You say it as if it was easy…”

 “You’ve had a whole week to say something to her. You could’ve thought up some good excuse, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure… I can convince her,” Terushima says picking at his rice.

“Convince of what? That you are a good kid? She knows you are not.”

“Thanks, Jii-san” says the boy grunting.

“Tell her you’re sorry and listen to whatever she has to say.”

“I’m certain it won’t be this easy.”

“You never use your brain, so why start now? Don’t assume things beforehand, just go.”

“Jii-san!”Terushima pleads. His puppy eyes fail to deceive his grandfather again.

“Go.”

*

Terushima stands at the door that separates their living spaces from his mother’s tattoo salon. He hesitates before knocking and even after he does, he is afraid to enter. He fears the fury of the tiger.

The door creaks as he pushes it in. The salon is bright with a mixture of natural light filtering through the lightly curtained windows and artificial light coming from the lamps above the chair his mother’s client sits in. In the chair, sits a relatively young man; seemingly well-off, with his shirt tucked up and arm held out, a huge dragon occupying his forearm.

“Yuuji,” Terushima hears as he steps in. The endless buzzing of the tattoo machine stops.

“Kaa-chan,” he replies, kind of meekly.

“What brings you here? Came to receive your punishment?” his mother asks, flippantly turning away from her working station. Her client seems to be unfazed by the unfolding family drama; he leans back on the chair comfortably as if he is expecting something noteworthy. Terushima gulps back his complaints, though he feels an immense urge to question the necessity of a spectator to his humiliation.

“I came to reflect,” he says.

“Check your wording and say it again,” she says. Terushima glances at the peaceful yakuza in the chair who waves at him with his still dragon-less arm.

“I came ‘coz Jii-san was nagging me into it,” he says reluctantly.

“Good. This sounds much better. I like honesty,” his mom nods and a joyful smile appears on her face. “Now come, sit around a bit. I will finish with Yanagi-san soon, your forehead is next.”

"Kaa-chan!" he snaps, but checks himself and continues in a more reserved tone. "I really don't think it's necessary. I stand out already; it would only add to..." “Lies,” his mom says, cutting in Terushima’s plea. The tattoo machine buzzes up again, and she is back to drawing the scales of the dragon on the guy’s left arm. “You love standing out.  You might as well go back to your room if you can’t come up with a better excuse.”

“I…” starts Terushima. Hehas already made up heaps of possible excuses in his mind… but really, nothing seems to be convincing. But what should he say? If he wants to earn his mother’s trust, lame defences won’t make a do. “I am sorry,” he finishes before another stupid thing could leave his mouth.

“And what are you apologising for?” his mother stops her work again to turn towards him. “Smoking? Getting caught? Lying to me?”

Terushima ponders over his reply. Evidently, the right answer would be “smoking”. But is it the correct answer? Does he really regret smoking? He never really felt like he did anything wrong by smoking a few cigarettes on the rooftop. It made him calm. He liked the feeling of it. He liked how the smoke dissolved into nothing under the blue sky. He liked watching the clouds and not really thinking about anything, just waiting for the bell to sign the beginning of the next class. He doesn’t really regret it. He never felt guilty… not even when Sawamura popped out of literally nowhere some time before. He was caught about four times before the show last Friday. He somehow managed to slip away… before he thought it was because he was faster than Sawamura. But truthfully, Sawamura never really gave him a chase. Now, he thinks to himself almost smiling, no wonder why: he has planned out his trap meticulously and carried it out precisely.

Terushima sighs.

“Getting caught,” he says. Honesty, as his mother just pointed it out, is a virtue after all.

“You dumb creature,” the woman sighs. She excuses themselves as she slams her equipment on the table beside her and walks up to Terushima. “You come with me,” she grabs him by the collar of his T-shirt and pulls him towards the front door. Terushima wants anything, but a public scolding, yet his pride doesn’t let him to wiggle out of his mother’s grasp in front of a fellow man. Instead, he tries hard to look as composed as possible as his mother takes him out of the sight of the finally surprised-looking Yanagi-san.

His mother lets go of him not long after they leave the salon. They stand in the tiny shadow cast by the tree in front of the neighbouring greengrocers, the shop his grandfather’s girlfriend, Madoka-san manages.

“So,” his mom starts.

“So?” Terushima asks.

“So, what did I say when I found those cigarettes in the pocket of your laundry last time?”

“That you will kick me out of the house.”

“And what did I say, when you got suspended last time?”

“That you’ll paint ‘failure’ on my forehead with needles and ink.”

“So?” his mom asks now, hands on her hips, in a stance that can equally be attacking and demanding.

“Well, the house is Jii-san’s for one.”

A hand flies fast to deliver a bony whack on top of Terushima’s head.

“That will not stop me from kicking you out.”

“Jii-san will not let it…” argues the boy.

“Why not? I don’t see a reason,” his mother counters.

“Ok, ok! But you would never tattoo my forehead!” says Terushima quickly pulling his head between his shoulders, afraid of another smack. Instead, he receives laughter.

“True,” his mother agrees. “You are just too pretty to mess-up.”

Terushima’s stiff shoulders relax a bit. Then, the laughter fades away and his mother’s face darkens.

“Now, listen up, kid,” she says in a deep tone that wouldn’t fail a man either. “I have one selfish request from you.”

Terushima breathes in harshly. He tries not to imagine what kind of a request awaits him.

“I gave birth to you at fifteen, when I was basically a baby myself,” his mom starts. “We can hold arguments about whether it was a wise decision or not, but you were done and I carried you even if it meant dropping out of school.”

This kind of talk actually surprises Terushima. He is used to the scolding monologues starting with “my dumb son,” but his mother hardly ever speaks about her teenage years. Once she said that she is not an example to compare him to, and so he never really heard much of the talks Numajiri and the others are always complaining about, those infamous “when I was your age…” speeches.

There was only one time he actually heard his mom starting a sentence with “When I was your age…”  It was on his sixteenth birthday, when he came home dead drunk in the wake of night, wearing his own boxers on top of his head and even that one time it continued with her laughing and admitting “I was breastfeeding a kid while attending night classes.”

Yet now, she is speaking about how young she gave birth… Terushima is confused and it must be showing, because his mother lets out a tiny snicker.

“Oh, come on, don’t make this face. I’m not going to start reminiscing about the ‘good old times’,” she laughs shortly. “I’m not afraid you’ll do the same mistakes as me… for one, you are missing the equipment to get pregnant, aren’t you?”

Terushima lets out a surprised little laugh, followed by another of his confused looks.

“You spoke about some request…” he starts.

“Yes,” his mom says cutting in. “My one and only request for you is to take care of yourself.  I was too young when I gave birth to you, you see, and I love you way too much to bear seeing you die before me.” She gives off a soft sigh. “Selfish, huh? But please, try to find another way to waste time. Smoking will make your lungs all black and as far as I know, lung transplants are still impossible.”

“This is a rather roundabout way to tell me to stop smoking,” the boy concludes. Before his mother could come back at him, a lively shout cuts into their conversation.

“Midori! Yuuji!” Peeking out from her store, Madoka-san waves at them energetically.  “It’s good to see you here, Yuuji,” the woman says as a greeting as they walk to her door and she kisses Terushima’s mom on the cheek. “Though it’s not good that you are suspended again.”

The boy doesn’t get a kiss.

“It’s been only two days, and everyone knows about it already in the neighbourhood…” he mutters.

“I am not all the neighbourhood, Yuuji,” Madoka-san smiles widely. “And well, I live with Yuusei, you know.”

“Don’t remind me all the time!” Terushima complains quickly. “It was a real shock to me. I seriously thought about marrying Madoka-san in elementary.”

“Sad thing your grandpa beat you to it,” says his mom maliciously.

“Well, I do hope you will choose someone closer to you in age,” Madoka-san laughs. “Oh, Midori, before you go back to the shop, I would like to ask whether Yuuji is grounded or not.” she turns to Terushima’s mom.

“Nah, he can go wherever he would like to. He stays home because I took away his pocket money and he already owns his friends a lot so no one is willing to invite him out.”

“Great news then!” Madoka-san claps her hands together. Terushima cannot grasp what is so great about being dirt poor with lots of freetime to spare; but he has a faint idea that it will be about some kind of a favour. “The student part-timer who tends to come in the afternoons just called to tell me that she cannot make it because of supplementary lessons,” Madoka-san says confirming the boy’s suspicions, then in a lower tone she adds: “I hope it’s the truth and it’s not your fault for breaking her heart or anything.”

“I swear I’ve never even talked to her long enough to catch her name!” replies Terushima defensively. “But, if you need a helper, I am more than willing to step in for a few hours…”

“Oh, the shop is fine. What I need is for someone to bring Nana home from kindergarten.”

Terushima flinches at the name of his five-year-old aunt. According to his grandfather, Nana is just as lively asTerushima’s mother was at this age. If “lively” describes a person with deep and desperate devotion to tear all piercings they see out of their places; Terushima has to agree with his grandfather.

“If you insist,” he grumbles.

“I do,” Madoka-san says with a smile which Terushima cannot resist.

*

On his way to the kindergarten, Terushima is musing over the fact that most probably he has no friends. It’s beena whole week, and he sent out tons of messages to Bobata, Futamata, Nishinoya and Numajiri – oh, he even sent one to Tanaka, albeit they were not supposed to be on speaking terms with each other for reasons starting with “Shimizu” and ending with “Kiyoko” (namely, they got into a huge fight over whether the prettiest member of the public morals committee looks better with her hair down or up in a ponytail) – and he received only one answer, sent by the innocent-looking, but in reality ruthless Futamata Takeharu, on Wednesday afternoon; consisting only one word: “lol”.

Terushima’s fingers feel itchy. He slams his hands into his pockets in frustration. He craves cigarettes… but rather than nicotine, he yearns for the feeling of the cigarette itself between his fingers, the sensation of cheap paper on dry and hardened skin; the smell of smoke and the bitter aftertaste on the tip of his tongue. As he walks down to the bus stop (at least his transport passes have not been confiscated by his mother), he is writing a rather desperate message to Futamata and he feels like a sore loser without friends, cigarettes and pride.

He checks his phone again on the bus. It’s past four. No new messages. ‘So this is how far their friendship goes,’ he thinks bitterly as he looks out of the window. The city flies by and he wonders what will he do when his suspension ends. Now, that even his closest friend, Bobata ignores his texts, Terushima feels tiny and lonely and lost.

And angel-faced evil Futamata dared to laugh at him.

His train of thought takes a somersault as he reminds himself of his mission: picking up his five-year-old aunt from kindergarten.

Since the very first day of day-care, Terushima has been introduced as the big brother of Nana to people – it was much easier than trying to explain why a man in his early fifties has a grown ass grandson, much older than his own daughter.

In the countryside, people’s lips are never sealed. When there is reason (and often even when there is not), gossip sprouts like weed flowers and spreads like wildfire. People in Miyagi has some ridiculously old-fashioned standards for Terushima’s tastes. To explain a patchwork family like his to others without receiving malicious looks is a hard task. Neither teenage pregnancy, nor a child out of marriage is well received.

Truthfully, when he first heard of his grandfather’s relationship with Madoka-san, he himself thought it was horrendous as well. He was 8 years old, and deeply in love with the sweet, strong greengrocer lady from the house next to them. He found it scandalous that his grandfather, who had a grandchild in elementary, started an affair (especially, since it was with the woman he himself set his eyes on). Only later, after his first, burning crush faded he realized the rationality of their relationship.

 The bus suddenly breaks and Terushima nearly head bangs the seat in front of him. As the driver curses soundly, the boy peeks out the window to find a cat  running off from between the wheels. After the first rush of adrenaline fades away, he grabs his phone again to check his notifications. Still no new messages.

He feels lost. Thoughts like “I was probably not so important to them” and “they don’t really need me” cross his mind. His teammates probably find him to be a nuisance now, that he got suspended and probably even banned from club activities.

The thought that they might be angry over how he got himself suspended does cross his mind, but he hushes it away. On Friday they did not seem angry. They were ridiculing him for getting caught and they were laughing with him as they expressed their jealousy because he can spend a whole week school-free.

Still, they don’t reply to his messages.

He locks and unlocks his phone again. He turns it off, then fidgets a lot realizing he doesn’t remember his own PIN. It’s three stops later that he manages to find the correct combination. He checks his LINE out of habit first thing the opening screen fades. He stares at his own messages with emptiness nesting itself into his heart.

He feels not wanted. None of them has replied, not even Tanaka to remind him that they are currently not on speaking terms; and it makes him lonely. By the time he gets off the bus at the kindergarten he is in agony. He feels that his entire existence is meaningless. He feels so desperate for human interaction that for a moment he even considers writing to his ex-girlfriend. He immediately aborts mission though as he reminds himself of their breakup.

He runs through his messages absent-mindedly to count all the members of the Karasuji volleyball club, who has not replied him back. Not even the ever-eager Hinata has reacted to his message, moreover, what truthfully hurts, is that he has even read the message, but left it unanswered.

After scrolling down he realizes that he actually didn’t write to Azumane. He has never been especially close with the only third year who has not graduated from the club yet; but he has always respected the soft-hearted beardy a lot. He has learnt his tricky back attacks by watching and reforming the technique of his senior after all…

“How are things in school, Azumane-senpai?” he puts in a simple message as he enters the gates of the kindergarten. He presses send with his heart beating in his throat.

He tries to swallow down his anxiety inside the kindergarten.

“I came for Terushima Nana,” he says stopping a familiar face.

“Ah, Yuuji-kun! Long time no see,” greets him the woman. “I will get her out in a second. We are making origami today.”

“Great, thank you,” he says and shrugs awkwardly when he hears the woman shout ‘Nana-chan, your big brother is here to get you!’

He is… her nephew.

He might not correct people on it, but he still feels uncomfortable about a lie like this. He leans his back against the wall in awkward silence, hoping that his aunt will not take too long to get out.

“Nana is not going without Asahi!” exclaims the little girl a few minutes later as Terushima tries to get her to wear her outdoor shoes. “Nana is going to marry Asahi when she grows up!”

“I’m sure this Asahi of yours will be more than glad to marry you, pretty princess,” Terushima hums small talk into the little girls ear while he fixes the buttons on her cardigan. “Now, come on, we are ready,” stands up Terushima holding out a hand to his little aunt.

“I am not going without Asahi!”

“Look,” Terushima squats back to match the eye level of the girl. “Asahi must go home with his parents. If we take him with us, his mom will surely get worried…”

“Stuuu-pid! Asahi is a sensei here! He needs no mom to take him home!”

“Nana… please,” the boy pleads in a tender tone. “If he is a sensei, he needs to work now. You cannot bother others with selfish requests…”

“Nana is not going without Asahi!” the girl shouts and she throws herself on the floor. Terushima jumps in surprise and sends an apologetic look to one of the kindergarten staff.

“Excuse me, could you kindly get Asahi-sensei here? We have a situation where he’s needed.”

Addressing emergency situations like a five-year-old’s fit of tantrum is something he has great experience with, and truthfully, in his current state he is rather thankful for his baby-aunt to distract him from his insecurity about his friendships.

He kneels down to pull Nana up from the floor.

“Ok, ok, I get it, Asahi-sensei will come soon, let’s wait for him in a peaceful manner, will you?” he asks softly. “How will you get him to marry you if you show him such an unsightly behaviour, hah?”

“I want him… to come with us.”

“You like him a lot, right?”

“Lots and lots. I like Asahi the best!”

“More than your Mama?”

“Well… no… but second best!”

“More than your Papa then?”

“I like Papa but I cannot marry Papa!” the girl reasons.

“Five-year-olds are scary…” Terushima says under his breath. Then, as he cannot stand to not-to ask, he adds: “So, you like him more than me?”

“Asahi-sensei!” the girl shrieks.  A shock runs through Terushima as his last glimmer of hope turns away from him.  She didn’t even notice him asking… she was so focused on the teacher appearing from one of the classrooms.

Terushima turns his head, lost and devastated, to face his new archenemy.

The kindergarten teacher is a tall and muscular man with long hair put up in a solid ponytail. His baby blue apron draws an epic contrast with his masculine, rather intimidating looks. He is scratching his beard in a manner way too familiar to Terushima…

“Azumane-senpai?” the boy asks, not believing his own eyes. A faint blush crosses the face of the kindergarten teacher.

“Hi, Terushima,” he says.

“I heard that you got a part-time job, but I had no idea it was here,” Terushima blurts his thoughts out instantly.

“Well, I didn’t really intend to tell it to anyone… it wouldn’t go well with my image…” says Azumane and he starts fiddling with his apron awkwardly.

“That’s rather stupid, senpai. Everyone knows that your menacing power is restricted to the volleyball court.”

“But I really try…”

“To look wild, yes, I know,” Terushima stops Azumame’s blabbering. “Though, I think this suits you better. Taking care of children… and such,” he says reassuringly. He thinks that his attempt is very weak, still, Azumane’s face lights up.

“Really? Thank you,” says the older boy with visible gratification. “This means a lot, you know… I think I am not really liked by the kids…”

“On the contrary, senpai, you must be popular!” Terushima tries to ease the insecurities of his upperclassman. “My little… sister just confessed her plans to marry you in the future,” he pats the head of his sparkly-eyed tiny aunt.

“Oh, so Nana-chan is your sister! I’ve been wondering, as she has the same surname and all…”

Terushima wonders if by “and all” Azumane hints at the terrible personality they have in common, but decides to let it go with an “it’s complicated” for an answer.

“Nana loves you so much, she doesn’t want to go home without you,” he sums up their situation swiftly.

“Nana is not going home without Asahi!” the girl agrees with a shout.

“Did you spoil her, senpai?” Terushima asks in a teasing tone, but  Azumane pales visibly in reaction to the accusation.

“I might have done so…” he mumbles.

“Err, senpai, this was meant to be a joke.”

“No, no, I really think I might have done so…”

“I want to go home together with Asahi!” Nana exclaims, grabbing the bearded boy by his hand.

As Azumane squats down to tell Nana that he still has to finish his lift, therefore he is not able to accompany her, the little girl bursts into a terrible out-of-this-world shriek and the kindergarten is suddenly in ruins. Nana’s loud voice makes several kids cry or visibly terrified. A little boy runs behind the coat hanger to hide from the hysterics of the girl. Even the headmaster of the establishment comes out of her office to see what caused the commotion.

“I don’t mind if you go home earlier today, Asahi,” she says examining the situation swiftly. “Just get this dervish out of the building.”

*

“I’m sorry about this, senpai.”

“Don’t be, it was me who spoiled her.”

“I am definitely very sorry. About my joke as well.”

“No, it’s fine. Nana is happy,” the third year says with a soft smile. If it was anyone else but Azumane. Terushima would probably freak out, but watching the huge third year holding the hand of his aunt carefully as they cross the road warms his heart. Azumane Asahi was born to take care of kids.

“So you were serious when you said that after graduation you would like to work in a kindergarten,” Terushima says changing the topic,  recalling their introductions in his first year.

“Ah, you remember that?” Azumane asks surprised and scratches his beard. He always does it, whenever he feels to be in a pinch… or in situations he states his honest opinion. As if he was afraid people would dislike him for his thoughts… Terushima sends an encouraging look towards his upperclassman. “Well… yes. Truthfully, this kindergarten belongs to a relative. I started working part-time only recently, but the place really grew to my heart. I wouldn’t mind if I could actually start working here full-time after graduation…”

Azumane speaks with sparkling eyes, a fresh rosy colour spreading on his face in enthusiasm.

“You must really love children,” says Terushima absent-mindedly.

“Yes! I mean… not in any weird way! I hope this is not one of your pranks I fell for again!” Azumane says confused and flustered.

“No, I honestly find it amazing,” Terushima says. “You looked good in there, surrounded by kids. I’m sure you will be a great kindergarten teacher.”

“Thanks,” Azumane nods and they fall in silence. Even Nana doesn’t speak for once; she is on cloud nine of happiness that she can walk home hand-in-hand with her promising future husband.

With one hand holding Nana, Terushima sinks his other hand in his pocket. When as his fingers close around his phone, out of habit he pulls it out to check the time. Even if he knows what he will find (or not find, rather), he involuntary glances up at the corner of the screen to check his notifications.

 He is about to take his phone away with a sigh when Azumane clears his throat unnaturally.

“Senpai?”

“I… I’ve seen your message when I went to change. I didn’t reply because I thought that since we’ve already met it would be more natural to tell you in person… it’s not that I agreed to that prank or anything.”

“What prank?” Terushima asks.

“You don’t know? Does it mean… it’s still ongoing?” Azumane’s horrified expression piques Terushima’s interest.

“What prank?” he asks again coolly, while calmly moving closer to his upperclassman like a cat strolling around his prey.

“’The Terushima Yuuji sabotation plan’. The messages. Not reading them… and not replying. That was your punishment for getting suspended.” Azumane starts and he seems terribly sorry as he speaks. "I thought the boys would stop after a day or two. Really, it was supposed to be a small prank to put you in place... I mean, they said so! It was Bobata who said that you should realize that your behaviour endangers the team. Noya began saying that you need a punishment and Numajiri said that he saw it on TV that the worst thing to do to someone is to excommunicate him or something…” Azumane scratches the back of his head, confused and flustered. “Well, it was basically just us talking during the last practice on Friday after you were sent home and everyone was angry because we all agree that the team without you have no chance to get into the nationals, and we all worked hard to get there and... and... and it all came down to this. I really didn't think that they would do it seriously. Especially not that they would do it for a week! I knew what they were up to, I would've stopped it days ago!"

Terushima stops abruptly. Nana walks into her nephew's legs. Terushima mutters sorry and pats her head. It shocks him but gives him grief as well to know the truth. So his team was indeed angry.

"I see," he says.

"I regret it so much... if only I checked those scoundrels!" Azumane continues.

"No, it's fine" Terushima assures. "They have the right to do..."

"No, they don't!" the older boy cuts in fervently. "What they did was basically bullying..."

"... Yeah," Terushima agrees after a long silence. "It was, maybe." He starts walking again, grabbing the hand of Nana. “Maybe I deserved it.”

“No, you…”

“Senpai.”

Azumane shrugs soundly, but doesn’t reply anything back.

As Nana opposed to taking the bus, reasoning that by walking she can spend more time with her beloved Asahi sensei, they pass by the stop and continue walking without the two high school boys saying another word. The only sound between them is the happy humming of the little girl, holding onto both of their hands.

Terushima is left alone with his thoughts and as every extroverted person, it doesn’t do any good to him either. His feelings of being useless and unwanted disappeared, only to be replaced by grim regret and self-loath. He feels just as awful as before he entered the kindergarten.

He stares to nowhere while walking, listening to the constant murmur of cars and people passing by. He feels the urge to redo it all. Or most of it. Not that his opinion has changed on smoking or skipping class – he still finds no shame in either one – but he feels terrible because of the fact that his actions might have inflicted harm on his team.

A long sigh leaves his lips, but he says nothing.

The one who breaks their involuntary silence a few minutes later is Azumane.

“Look, aren’t those students from our school?” he asks pointing over the other side of the road with his free hand. Terushima follows the direction.

“Where?” he asks absent-mindedly.

“There they are, in that tiny alley between the ramen shop and the karaoke bar, two kids in our uniform.

Terushima cannot help but admire Azumane’s eyesight, as it takes him several seconds of strong focusing to spot the two students in the infamous jet black blazer of Karasuji. They stand in the alley, half hidden by a huge trash container, pushed against the wall by bigger, sturdier kids from the neighbourhood technical high.

“Oh, gosh,” Terushima says.

 “It seems like bullying to me…”

“It is bullying,” the boy agrees.

“Should we call the police?” Azumane asks.

“Nah, the police will not come in time. We should stop them ourselves,” Terushima answers. “But there’s no way in hell we can do that with Nana on board… oh God.”

He is still deeply contemplating the chances he would alone have – leaving Nana to Asahi, who wouldn’t even be able to fight off an annoying fly, let alone three huge technical school kids – when he spots a familiar face on the other side.

The moment one of the Karasuji kids gets kicked, Sawamura Daichi steps out of the ramen shop leisurely. He still wears his school uniform property, even his blue necktie is promptly done long after classes finished. His bag is something Terushima sees for the first time; he had envisioned Sawamura to carry the same ugly brown, lame bag they receive with the uniform, but the committee chairman has a rather trendy, white sports bag on his shoulder.

Terushima’s eyes are glued to Sawamura; he follows every movement the older boy makes as he steps on the pavement and starts walking in the direction of the alley. He feels his own heart throbbing in his ears in synchrony with the steps of the public morals committee chairman.

“They are kicking those students! I am calling the police,” he hears Asahi yelping. He nods distractedly, as Sawamura stops suddenly in the entrance of the alley , then walks past the container to peak behind.

“Good, call the police. I’ll try to stop them from doing anything more,” Terushima agrees and speed-walks across the road. He is not sure what he is trying to do himself… but he was never the man of well-thought plans anyways. He runs to the entry of the alleyway with a few huge steps, only to witness as one of the technical kids launches his attack against Sawamura.

He is not entirely sure about what he was expecting from the public morals committee chairman, but putting up a good fight was probably not one of them. Yet, his foe falls on his face before he could even reach Sawamura. Terushima hides behind the conveniently placed garbage container unconsciously as he watches the committee chairman in awe.

After inspecting the situation in-depth, Terushima can conclude that Sawamura is not fighting, in the literal sense of the word. All he did was to kick an empty can under the feet of his attacker. As lame as it is, Terushima finds it brilliant. Something… not so boring, after all.

Sawamura leans back from the punch of the second attacker.

“You don’t want to cause a ruckus now, do you?” he asks. Terushima rolls his eyes hearing the clichéd good boy question. “Do you?” Sawamura repeats after another attempt to hit him nearly grazes his shoulder. There is tangible threat in his voice, and even though Terushima cannot see his face from his hiding place, he is pretty sure that Sawamura is making “that face”.

The face of the unparalleled sadist. The face that can temporarily make you freeze in movement.

Sawamura has only used “that face” on Terushima once. It was the very first time he caught him smoking on the rooftop. It was the day Terushima, on his way to detention to write a 3-page-long essay on the harm of cigarettes; stopped by the nurse’s office to bribe some information on the committee chairman out of the school nurse. (She has always had a terrible sweet tooth: with one honey bread Terushima can usually make her let him stay in the office during classes he hates; with a caramel milk and a bar of chocolate he could bribe her into showing him the third years’ measurements.)

It was the day he felt so defeated by “that look” that their 4 millimetres height difference made him happy with tears.

The look Sawamura makes renders the boy who’s about to launch another attack to suddenly stop in his motion. He looks so mortified in his petrified state that it reminds Terushima of the scenes of Darth Vader from Star Wars; when he uses the power of the force to strangle people from far away. For a split second he imagines Sawamura as a sith lord and unintentionally snorts out loud. Both the bullied students, the bullies and Sawamura turn their head towards him in unison.

“Hi, how’re you all?” he asks awkwardly, stepping out from behind the container.

The third bully choses this moment of confusion to attack and hit Sawamura in the face. His full-power blow meets the boy’s jaw with an ugly sound. Terushima feels a strange mixture of satisfaction and worry as Sawamura staggers back a step. His mixed feelings, however, don’t stop him from planting an enormous right punch onto the guy’s cheek, followed by a more thoughtful left hook straight into his guts. As the guy crouches down cursing, Terushima steps back, both shielding the bullied duo and Sawamura.

“You know, bullying is a crime,” he says. “My senpai on the other side of the road is calling the police now.”

The only bully still standing starts swearing, grabbing Terushima by the collar of his shirt.

“Try it,” Terushima says fearless, with one fist slightly pressed against the solar plexus of the boy He faintly hears Sawamura coughing behind him. “Hit me or leave,” he finishes in a more composed, cool tone and he smiles. He tries to recall that wicked, threatening look of Sawamura as he lowers his voice even deeper. “They might not catch you here if you leave now, though I suggest you leaving your student IDs here.”

The kid, half head taller than him, winces and lets go of his shirt.

“No IDs,” he says grabbing his friends and pulling them out to the street.

“Don’t even think you will get out of this untouched,” Terushima replies back, though he is unsure whether the bullies hear him or not anymore. He then turns to face the injured chairman of the Karasuji public morals committee and the two students. “I’ve got his ID,” he says in a cheeky-proud tone, pulling a student card out of the pocket of his pants. “I took it when he grabbed me.”

“Cool,” gapes one of the kids. He seems to be a freshman, even shorter than Hinata from the volleyball club. His dishevelled uniform hangs on him lamely. There is a fresh bruise under his eye.

“What is so cool about him?” asks Sawamura silently, making the freshman jump. Terushima flinches at the annoyed tone of the chairman.

“Sawamura, your lips are bleeding,” he comments.

“Uh,” Sawamura replies, wiping his mouth. After another growl, he massages his jaw with his slightly bloody fingers. “Something feels off,” he says. Terushima starts fidgeting, hesitant about approaching the other boy.

The two bullied students pack their stuff quickly and quietly.

“Um… thank you. Both of you,” says the small boy hugging his torn bag close to his chest.

“Nah, it was fine,” replies Terushima, but by the time he finishes the kids has run off. “Now, that’s what I call awkward,” he comments shortly.

“Oh.” Sawamura’s surprised little sound makes Terushima turn his way. The public morals committee chairman looks quite puzzled, holding one of his teeth in his palm.

“What the–” starts Terushima gasping. His thoughts start roaming like a crazy roller coaster ride. Sawamura has lost a tooth. The punch he received was so brutal that his tooth fell out. He was punched because Terushima’s snort made him lose focus… therefore Sawamura has lost a tooth as a result of his intervention.

Terushima pales visibly. The malicious gratification he felt just a minute ago when Sawamura got hit disappears instantly; it is replaced by the tangy feeling of culpability and buzzing anxiety.

“I think… I took quite a blow,” Sawamura says, his voice shaky.

“Are you dizzy?” Terushima asks and, overwhelmed by the pressure of guilt, he grabs Sawamura’s arm to support him.

“I feel rather bad,” the committee chairman agrees, leaning onto Terushima. “Not really dizzy, but painful,” he concludes massaging his jaw again with his free hand.

“You should see a doctor,” Terushima suggests. He speaks in a nervous tone, higher pitched than normal, without his natural cheeky tinge. This is actually the very first time he speaks to Sawamura out of school; or more like out of their customary cops-and-robbers situation. He is still not sure whether the committee chairman has realized that without his intervention he would still have all his teeth. He still doesn’t know if Sawamura is angry at him or not.

All he knows is that Sawamura with a missing bottom second tooth on the right side is a tad bit less handsome than his usual self. Not that Terushima considers Sawamura handsome. He is just average. Boring-looking.

Now a little more interesting, with that touch of a missing front tooth.

Terushima leads Sawamura out of the alley, all the while contemplating whether to tell him that the tooth that fell out was a frontal one (not that he could not feel it with his tongue or something), when suddenly Azumane and Nana happens.

Their duo is like a very loud, very harmless hurricane; Azumane jumps in to help Sawamura from the other side and Nana grabs Terushima’s free hand and squeezes it; all the while crying.

“You reckless dastards!” Azumane scolds. “Why did you jump in just like that?! Terushima, you have your sister to take home, and Daichi, you got yourself injured!

Sawamura mumbles something no one can comprehend.

Daichi. It takes a few seconds for Terushima to connect the name with the committee chairman. It feels strange. He feels itchy. He clears his throat.

“He took quite a big blow to the face. He spit out a tooth just a moment ago,” he briefs their situation. “We should quickly cool it off with something otherwise it will swell a lot… and go and see a doctor.”

“Daichiii!” Azumane yelps in terror. His panicked face is as comical as ever, but Terushima does not find it funny this time. He is still too overwhelmed by the fact that he is, at least partially, in fault for their current situation.

“Don’t shout, Asahi,” Sawamura says in a faint voice. “For once, I agree with Terushima,” he continues. “Let’s go to the supermarket nearby and get some deep frozen shit for my jaw before my eyes fall out from the pain.”

This is the first time Terushima hears Sawamura swearing. He finds it endearing.

*

Spitting blood in front of a kindergartener is not wise, ruled Azumane after Sawamura received his deep frozen shrimp tempura (Nana’s choice of dinner, bought by Azumane as Terushima has no spending money thanks to his suspension) to cool his swollen face with; so here they are, on the playground close to the supermarket, where (while Azumane plays with Nana by the swings) Sawamura is ordered to rest and Terushima to look after him; which makes the two of them sitting awkwardly on a bench.

“You should go see a doctor.”

“I will.”

“There is a hospital. We could accompany you…”

“No need,” Sawamura refuses, peeling off the pack of shrimp tempura from his face. “This is more than enough help already.”

“We should’ve bought ice cream,” Terushima says kind of apologetically.

“Nah, this is just great. I always wished to compress my face with dead fish.

“Shrimps are actually not fish…”

“When did you get this knowledge, because you mysteriously miss all your biology classes?”

“I study.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I do,” Terushima insists. Sawamura puts the pack back on his face.

“You know that fighting is against the school rules, right?” he says.

“We are off school grounds.”

“Then how about stealing?” he holds the student ID up to wave it in front of Terushima’s eyes.

“We have to find those bullies, don’t we?”

“We?” Sawamura drops the ID into his lap. Terushima’s eyes follow the card then lift to meet the eyes of the committee chairman.

“Oh come on,” he says. “It’s not like we made friends,” he explains, an annoyed expression appearing on his face; “but we are not in war either.”

“I hope so,” Sawamura agrees. “Because now I think this is a brilliant opportunity to make a deal.”

“What deal?” the blonde replies in a wary tone. Sawamura turns on the bench a little to face him more.

“What would you do to have your exclusion from club activities lifted?” he asks.

Terushima stares at him for a few seconds before he starts blinking.

“Will you promise, that you are not skipping a class again until graduation?” Sawamura continues unfazed.

“Your graduation or mine?” Terushima asks.

“You are in no position to bargain.”

“Then it’s an order, not a deal.”

“Whatever you prefer,” answers Sawamura finally. “Just don’t skip while I’m the public morals committee chairman, got it?”

“I got it, but I’m not sure if it’s feasible…”

“How so?”

“There are certain classes that are simply too boring…”

“Terushima.”

“Since it’s a deal… what if I say that instead of not skipping anymore I will be within the top 10 on the next mock exam?”

“Be in the top 5, and I don’t mind if you sleep through modern history.”

“Yessir,” salutes Terushima scornfully. “Anything else? Should I take notes?”

“You might as well do,” says Sawamura reciprocating his sarcasm.

“I have no pen. Nor paper,” Terushima says.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Karasuji uniform is a mixture of Karasuno's black gakuran with the khaki blazer - blue necktie horror of Johzenji... so basically a pair of black pants, black blazer, blue necktie :) For the design please find the super cute fanart of my adorable beta reader, Immodea [here](http://owlsshadows.tumblr.com/post/136674206035) . 
> 
> Comments are always welcome^^ Thanks for reading!^^


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to write, but it's way too long in return... over 9k chapter go go go!

3/

 

There is a self-study room in the main building. It is linked to the library, but has a separate entrance too; right behind the nurse’s office. Originally, they say, it was the office of the librarian, but now it’s mostly used by the delinquents who are assigned to write their reflections.

Terushima enters the room with a familiar feeling. As often as he has been sent here, he feels like he’s spent half his high school life in this room. He knows this place by heart. He could name the books on the shelves one by one, and point them out blindfolded any day. He knows how the lamp standing behind the bookshelf tends to start blinking after a few minutes if you turn it on; he knows that the armchair in the corner of the room is very uncomfortable as one of its springs is broken; and he greets the sound of the clock on the wall as something familiar and calming. This place is his. There is a desk by the window. Terushima has carved a tiny star into one of its legs in his freshman year.

Upon entering, he walks to the desk without hesitation. He is followed closely by the manager of the volleyball club, strict and furious third year Misaki Hana.

“I hope you realize that doing it your usual wishy-washy way will not suffice,” she says patting his shoulders. Terushima is about to complain about the amount of lecturing he’s received nowadays when Misaki winks a little. “You are a clever kid, Terushima. I know you can fake some heartfelt regret.”

“Thank you,” he speaks before the girl’s face darkens again.

“Seriously though,” she continues and her voice drops half an octave. “No more skipping, smoking and mocking the committee, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Terushima nods. He is tired. He can’t remember a time he was scolded this much ever since he climbed the tree near the school building in second grade of elementary, and fell from a branch when he tried to jump in a second floor window. He is just so utterly fed up with all the reprimand, he would agree to anything at this point.

“I don’t want you to give Runa-chan a hard time.”

“I won’t.”

“Also, that Hinata kid follows you around like a puppy. Don’t be a bad idol.”

“I won’t.” he repeats mechanically.

“Honest?” she glances up at him. Terushima’s heart skips a beat.

For a split second he falls under the spell of the swindler called Misaki Hana. Soft gaze and fluttering eyelashes hides her strong assertiveness, lips part in delicate slowness, and for that millisecond, Terushima feels he would do anything to get on her good side. It takes a few moments for him to realize that he is played. With a brittle huff, he unmounts his backpack, sits down quietly and places his belongings on the desk. He was, yet again, tricked by the smallest of gestures. It’s always the slightest detail that catches his eye. It’s always the barely noticeable he falls for.

But as the curve of her lips raise in victory, Terushima’s crush on their third year manager disappears to be replaced with caution and irk.

“Yeah,” he says silently.

There is certainly a pause before Misaki speaks again.

“Good,” she lands her hands on his shoulders, pushing him into his seat deeper. “Heartfelt regret,” she presses.

“Okay, okay” Terushima hushes her away. “You can leave now, I’m not going to try and escape,” the boy says.

“Good,” the girl repeats, lips curling even higher. Terushima starts to fear that smile. “Just so you know, you will not get out of this, even if you try.”

“I said I’m not trying…” he insists.

“You have to do it right. For the team,” she says, her voice as cold as the steel of a blade. “And you have to pretend to be a good kid until the end of the Nationals. You promised, right? To that chairman Sawamura.”

“We will get into the Nationals!” the boy says frustrated. “Not because of some pact with Sawamura, but because of the fact that we can.”

“Your confidence is great, but please, put your head into it too,” Misaki says knocking her hand on the desk before she walks out the door. “You are a clever kid. Prove it.”

An annoyed huff escapes his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” he murmurs.

Once he’s left alone, Terushima can finally seize his kingdom. He splays all over the desk and leans his head on his arm to use it as a pillow. He wiggles until he reaches the optimal position comfortable enough to sleep in. His afternoon detention is too long. When he can write something that covers “heartfelt” and “regret” in 20 minutes, he doesn’t see the point in starting it hours before his detention finishes.

He slips into a peaceful slumber within a few seconds. In his dream he is in a huge gym. He dreams of dust and sweat and about the sound of a volleyball hitting the ground. He dreams of his team laughing. They won, and got into the Nationals. They are jumping, shouting, hugging each other, crying on each other’s shoulders. They throw Misaki up in the air. She disapproves. Coach Ukai junior is so proud he is speechless. Their clueless but extremely enthusiastic advisor Takeda is overwhelmed, grabbing the arm of the coach while crying violently. Terushima sees his friends and classmates who are cheering loudly on the stands. He even spots a dark brown head that takes him by surprise.

Terushima dreams of sunshine - sunshine filtering through the dust and diving in the drops of sweat, glistening tiny rainbows onto their skin. He dreams of a hand grabbing his shoulder, and shaking it softly. He dreams of his teammates calling his name. He dreams of a finger poking his face aggressively.

“Te-ru-shi-maaa!” Futamata says, stabbing his index finger into the last remnants of baby fat on the face of his captain again. “Wake up.”

“Futamata…?” asks Terushima back. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to urge you to write this thing and take you to practice,” the boy explains.

“You woke me up,” pouts Terushima.

“I did. You were sleeping.”

“I was.”

“You shouldn’t! Just do the thing, get over with it fast and come to practice. You missed a whole week already.”

“I cannot. I have to stay until the end of school.”

“Bullshit,” Futamata comments. “If you finish the task that was given to you, it would be only reasonable to let you go! You’ve missed a week! Prelims are here. We cannot afford to have you sleep around in random rooms when you could practice.”

“I know it all well, but I was ordered to…”

“Let me help,” the boy says, flopping into the armchair, then wincing instantly. “What the… this is painful,” he mutters scratching his butt.

“Oh, there is a broken coil in it somewhere.” replies Terushima.

“You couldn’t tell me this before, right?” asks Futamata.

“I had no idea you would drop down on it so forcefully,” chuckles the blonde boy.

“Don’t laugh,” Futamata says.

“You have been laughing at me for a week. All of you, to be precise, but especially you,” Terushima gives a pointed look to Futamata. The setter frowns.

“True,” he admits. “Maybe that ‘lol’ was a bit cruel from me.”

“Maybe?”

“But still! You shouldn’t laugh! You don’t know how painful it is to sit on this chair!”

“You think?” Terushima asks back with a look that leaves no doubt he has experience, then leans back in his chair to better enjoy the pained look on Futamata’s face. “By the way, don’t even think that I forgave you.”

“Okay, I get it,” the setter says, positioning himself to the safe side of the armchair. “Back to business.”

“What business? Didn’t you hear when I said it the first time? I have to stay here until school closes. No excuses.”

“Not if the committee chairman lets you out.”

“Like Sawamura would ever do a favour for me,” Terushima murmurs.

 “Probably not for you, but for me…” Futamata says, slowly and carefully leaning back in the chair. He looks proud, as he continues. “I will speak to Sawamura. He has no problem with me, you know, since I am a good kid and all.”

“Futamata,” Terushima cuts in. His tone is a borderline threatening one.

“Alright, alright, I am a hell spawn. I am the worst, but at least I look decent,” laughs the setter. “Also, unlike you I can swiftly sweet talk people.”

“Devil’s advocate you are.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” bows Futamata fake-humbly, with a wide smile on his face. “But don’t forget,” he says, standing up and pointing at himself in a Nishinoya-like fashion. _“I am a setter. I set you free!”_

Terushima snorts at his friend’s English accent.

“Where do you learn things like this? Sounds super tacky.”

“Yuu taught me.”

“No wonder,” Terushima laughs.

“Just believe in me,” Futamata winks before he leaves the room.

“Hey, where are you going?” Terushima shouts after him.

“To set you free!” the boy replies from the corridor.

Terushima, now left alone, takes out his pen from his pencil case. He doesn’t really believe in Futamata’s promise, or rather, he is certain that the setter will not be able to change Sawamura’s mind, yet he wants to believe that it’s possible. He is eager to go to practice. His wish wins over his resignation; he involuntary gets his hopes up. And, as he has nothing better to do and he is bored, he starts writing his essay.

He has expertise in this field, cultivated since the beginning of his school years. He mastered the art on how to pen apologies, how to phrase pretty little lies about reflecting on his wrongdoings. Not that he ever really reflected on anything, not even when he fell from that second floor window (and accidentally came with him the windowsill, barely missing his skull). Not that he felt anything other than annoyance when he had to stand in front of the vice principal, the committee chairman or the manager of the volleyball club.

(He only ever wavered in front of his mother, who could make him feel guilty just with a look of hers. He was only ever serious about the promises he made to her, as well.)

Terushima writes his apology knowingly. To appeal his homeroom teacher, who is accidentally his biology teacher as well, he writes a few paragraphs about the health dangers smoking poses to the human body and details its effects on the different organs. He even adds a warning about cancer for an extra touch of drama.

He nearly finishes by the time Futamata returns, which is indeed not that much time. The boy’s face is red and his hair is even bigger of a mess than before, but his smile is even wider. Terushima shoots a questioning stare at him, but Futamata instead of speaking, just pulls the rather reluctant-looking Sawamura in the room.

“Sawamura-senpai gave his word that you can leave once he checked your essay,” the setter huffs.

“Oh. Great. Thanks,” Terushima replies. He is borderline shocked by this turn of events, and bad at concealing his surprise.

“I gotta go, and change now,” Futamata continues. “Practice starts in fifteen minutes. You too should hurry up and join us soon.”

“I am already on the finishing touches,” Terushima assures his setter. The boy smiles back foolishly. Sawamura grimaces.

“I am not really interested in your essay, Terushima,” he says once Futamata storms off. “But since it’s my duty to ensure that you hand something in to the teacher, I might as well check it, so we won’t have to repeat this procedure again.”

“Do you think that I can’t write anything adequate on my own?” Terushima asks, hurt in his pride, while Sawamura closes the door. “I am not that dumb, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know that,” Sawamura replies back in a tone that freezes Terushima in his seat. The fury of the committee chairman is tangible enough to make the air heavy to breathe. “You said you’d get into the top 10 on the next test, right? How come you forgot to mention that you scored within the top 3 last time?”

“You never asked,” Terushima says carefully.

“You were the top of your grade in English.”

“Well, that just kind of happened.”

“Ever since first grade.”

“I can’t help it. I am a language genius,” says Terushima, experimentally cheekily. He knows well he shouldn’t play with fire, but he can’t help himself. He leans back in his chair slowly, a shit-eating grin spreading ear-to-ear on his face.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought,” Sawamura replies, reciprocating the smirk.

Terushima feels a pang down his stomach as he notices the gap between Sawamura’s teeth. He is uncertain whether what he feels is guilt, shame or something else; however it is painfully obvious to him that his emotions have been showing on his face when Sawamura suddenly turns away.

The committee chairman is aware of his flaws, Terushima realises. A vibrant blush flushes up his face, burning in the exact same red as Sawamura’s ears. The older boy clears his throat. “Here, I thought you were one of those hopeless muscle heads, who could not utter a word apart from ‘Nice kill!’ in English.My bad, for making my judgement based on your looks,” he says softly.

“ I accept this as an apology,” Terushima replies, and he can’t help but adore the contrast of burning red ears peeking out from between the dark hair and the collar of the committee chairman’s pure white shirt.

“You are way too impudent.”

Their eyes meet. Sawamura looks solemn. Terushima’s involuntary smile slowly fades away.

“Enough,” he says. His tone is one shade darker than before. “It’s my problem, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yours and your team’s as well, if you spend your time in detention instead of volleyball practice,” negates Sawamura.

“And what do you care?” murmurs Terushima under his breath.

As Sawamura’s blush fades, his authority figure personality returns.

“Where is your essay? Let me see,” he demands.

“Just some finishing touches,” Terushima turns back instantly to his desk and paper. Pen in hand, he contemplates just how cute Sawamura’s little smile was and how sad that it ended so soon, as he scribbles down one last, well-thought excuse, and sums it up with some convincing words of regret.

“Here you go,” he announces once he finished, handing the paper to Sawamura.

“I hope you are aware of the fact that I would love to tear this up right now to make sure you don’t get what you want,” Sawamura says, taking the paper from Terushima. The younger boy’s blood freezes and his heart skips a beat. “The only reason I am not doing it – apart from that it would be against the rules – is because Asahi has suffered a lot already with that unruly team of yours in your absence.”

“It is _our_ team,” Terushima stresses angrily. “And Azumane-senpai is one of us, an important member of our team. He is our ace. And now…” he continues. “I’d appreciate, if you could read my essay through so I can go.”

“And I would appreciate if I got the same treatment as Asahi.”

“You are not my respected senpai from my club.”

Sawamura bites his lips, but does not refute the argument. Terushima swallows back any further insults witnessing the visible pain on the committee chairman’s face. He instinctively feels that he has crossed a line he was not supposed to.

Sawamura runs through the essay quickly. Terushima’s eyes are glued to the serious face of the committee chairman, trying to guess his opinion from his reactions. Sawamura starts reading with his lips slightly pressed, brows furrowed. Then, after a few lines he raises one. He glances at Terushima, who hurriedly averts his eyes, then turns back to the page, humming. He is nodding a few times, once he even snorts, and then, when he has reached the bottom of the page, he sighs. A small, barely noticeable smile still lingers on his lips as he speaks.

“Go. I heard the team has a practice match today with some seniors.”

*

Once he leaves Sawamura with his annoyingly adorable punched-out-teethed-face on the corridor, Terushima heads straight for the gym. He hears the boys’ bantering through the open windows, so he stops to listen in.

Normally he would not – he is not a very thoughtful person in general, also, he is not the type to eavesdrop on others’ conversations – but now he feels wary. How will the others feel? What is the atmosphere inside, and how will it change once he enters?

“I'm not saying that it is an impossible thing to do, but I find it highly dubious,” he hears Numajiri's voice.

"Well, I agree with Noya, let's give it a try," answers Bobata. "And we will see the outcome."

"You guys don't seem to feel the importance of this. This is a once in a lifetime chance, we can't just ‘give it a try’ and then flunk it!" Numajiri counters. “We need to be more composed and think about it first!”

"We might be better off with Jiri as captain," Futamata laughs, breaking the seriousness of the situation. "He gives off this mother chicken vibe we miss."

"Who is a mother chicken, you!”

"Come on, guys," Bobata stops the bickering with a loud thud – Terushima can imagine his tall classmate smashing a ball in front of either one of them – and goes on. "Yuuji might be stupid, but he does his best to handle us."

"If only he could handle himself," Terushima hears a small addition, but he cannot recognize the voice this time.

"Okay boys, come on, practice is on!" comes the shout of coach Ukai from the further away corner of the gym. "Line up, twenty serves for everyone!"

Terushima gasps, and quickly makes his way to the door. He takes a deep breath before he slides the door open. He tries hard not to imagine the reaction of his teammates, but at the same time, get ready for the worst.

"Sorry, I'm late!" he exclaims loudly.

"You are late _and_ still in uniform, Terushima," replies Ukai. "Get into gym clothes now!"

“Yes sir!” he salutes, sprinting off the way of the club rooms. He forbids himself from thinking while he pulls off his button-up through the neck, and kicks off his uniform pants simultaneously. He jumps into one of his simple black T-shirts – he is convinced that black hides marks of sweat the most, so he bought at least ten of the same T-shirt for practice – and his black and yellow Karasuji uniform shorts. He is back in the gym in no time, and before he can even speak to the others, he is ordered to warm up and join in the receiving practice.

 “Azumane-senpai,” he says once he has the chance of being relatively close and alone with the third year ace. “I heard something from Sawamura about some practice match… with seniors,” he says just barely receiving Bobata’s sharp straight spike.

“Nice receive, Terushima, but less talk on the court!” he hears Ukai’s instant call.

“Oh, yeah. The seniors are coming today,” Azumane replies.

“Chance ball!” Bobata shouts. Tanaka jumps in to toss for the blocker, and this time Bobata gets his ball in, right behind the shoulder of Terushima.

“Nice play!” Ukai shouts, then the voice of the whistle marks the end of the game. “Team Bobata-Tanaka wins! Less talking, more focus, Captain and Ace!”

“Fuck,” Terushima comments silently.

“Well, seems like we lost,” laughs Azumane with one of his dorkiest expressions, scratching his head awkwardly.

“We can still win today. Against those senior guys you mentioned,” offers Terushima a high five. Azumane just shakes his head.

“Impossible,” he laughs. “Those seniors, who are about to come… they are the members of the Karasuji team from a few years back when I was a freshman.”

“The team that went to Nationals!” Terushima gasps, his eyes sparkling.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my… we _must_ win then!” the boy says, all fired up.

“Now, look at him, he behaves exactly the same as Noya,” He hears Numajiri’s comment.

“Come on, Rin! We can win this!” shouts Noya enthusiastically. Numajiri (Rintaro by his parents’ wish), shakes his head vigorously.

“With an unable-to-focus captain, who didn’t participate in our regular practice for a week? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and we cannot fully seize it!”

“So this was that talk about…” Terushima murmurs as he puts the parts together. His teammates were discussing the importance of this practice match before he entered.

“Well, if I can say something… I think that the opportunity is indeed great,” Yamaguchi says, “but couldn’t we ask the senior team to come by again? We can probably… have two or three matches against them until the Prelims.”

“Nah, half the team has moved out of town already,” says Numajiri quickly.

“I am able to focus.” Terushima argues weakly.

“Okay, boys, enough of your chit-chat,” the coach walks to their group. “Just so you know, today’s line-up will be a bit different from the team of the Nationals. For one, quite regretfully, Hinata’s idol, the Little Giant hasn’t replied to any of our calls. It seems the rumours are true that he has given up on volleyball entirely. On another note, the so-called Freshman Genius will also be missing. You might have heard about him from Azumane already, but to brief those who did not; there was only one guy apart from our ace here, who could be a regular as a first year in the team, nicknamed genius for his exquisite game sense and focus. He got injured pretty badly during their second match in the Nationals, which made him quit the club. I asked him whether he was interested to come, but unfortunately he refused.”

“I heard it was an Achilles-tendon rupture,” whispers Futamata to Terushima. “Pretty horrific, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Takeharu,” comments Ukai shortly. As neighbours, he taught Futamata how to toss since the kid was no more than a suckling; now their relationship appears to be more of bickering brothers than that of player and coach.

“You are no fun, Shin-nii,” the boy nags, pouting.

“Now, come on! Line up, last serving practice before the seniors arrive!”

The guest team arrives right after they finish their round of serves. Misaki guides the members to their respective bench. Not one of them stops upon entering the gym; to greet it with a familiar, nostalgic feeling.  Most of them are tall, bulky, and sharp-looking. Terushima notices that Azumane visibly gulps when he sees them.

Well, he was a part of this team. The team that went to the Nationals two times in a row. He played with them as a freshman.

There are five of them. They are the regulars who could win over Shiratorizawa and Aoba Jousai, and played against powerhouses like Fukurodani in Tokyo.

"Good to see you could make it, Aki," Ukai fist bumps with one of them.

"Well, I happened to be home for the time being. Though as you can see, even with me added, we don't have enough people," says the tall, blonde guy after they greet Ukai and the team. "We miss Azumane," he says with a smile, then his expression darkens as he adds, “also the other kid and our _ace_.”

Terushima stands close enough to notice the sarcasm in the last word and wonders, what could have made the tall blonde hostile towards the Little Giant. The same second he makes a wild guess, Ukai turns to his team.

“Kids, I spoke about a few members missing. The vice-captain from four years ago, Tsukishima Akiteru will join us instead.”

As the tall blond guy greets the team, Terushima nods in silence, recognising where the sarcasm is from. It runs in their veins, probably.

Ukai doesn’t let him wonder much about the Tsukishima brothers, as he starts giving out orders.

“We will need two more players on the senior team. Hinata, you will play with them," Ukai says, pushing the kid on the other side of the court. "I am interested in what the setter who tossed for the Little Giant can bring out of you."

The redhead bows ninety degrees in front of a guy with cunning, slanted eyes, whom Ukai introduces as Ueno.

“As for the other person to join the seniors…” starts the coach, but Terushima cuts in.

"I propose Yamaguchi," he says. "He lacks experience, but he is getting the hold of it. Also, I would like to practice more to receive his serves."

"Good," the coach agrees. "Now this is why I let you be the captain. Aki, you got two middle blockers, are you fine with it?"

"Yeah, we are fine," replies the blonde back.

"Good, then everyone, warm up!"Ukai says.

The teams occupy each side of the court. Rather than warm-up, Terushima calls together his team for a strategic meeting. He makes them line up to spike his tosses one-by-one, giving them small tips and suggestions as they pass by. Some of them get clear instructions, others a few words of encouragement. Terushima knows well how to psyche up his team.

"Noya, I hope to hear your voice loud and clear even when you are not on the court."

"Tanaka, you are my finest weapon."

"Azumane-senpai, please don't feel pressured to play against your old team."

"Bo, go for the straights. Jiri and I will cover for the crosses if Noya is not on court."

"Jiri, don't fret too much. Believe in your team, and yourself more. You are clever, you can outsmart them."

"Futamata, don't receive too many balls, we need a proper setter."

"Ha-" the setter replies, sending the ball far away. "Can't I make two-plays happen?"

"If there is someone to spike it, why not?" winks Terushima. "But still, please leave the receiving to us. Not that you are worse than any of us, but you are needed _after_ the receives. You know… you are a setter. You set me free?"

"Good to know you appreciate my worth, even if you are angry," laughs the boy.

"If you were not here, I had to toss for everyone."

"You." Futamata hits Terushima on the back with force his innocent fresh-faced looks would forbid him from having. The captain nearly falls while walking back to the coach, where Ukai introduces the teams to each other again, and this time formally.

"Team ‘Seniors’ captain, Tsukishima Akiteru, Team ‘Juniors’ captain, Terushima Yuuji, shake hands."

Terushima accepts the hand offered by the tall blonde guy, and acknowledges the fact that the older brother has the same shade of golden brown eyes as his sassy little brother.

"Your brother gives me quite a headache," he admits to Tsukishima.

The guy raises an eyebrow, then a faint smile appears on his face.

“Knowing that the captain of the volleyball club still thinks about him is a relief, though,” he replies. Terushima can’t really make sense of the words, but for the moment he leaves it as it is, making a mental note to question Tsukishima after the game is over.

*

The match starts with Azumane serving.

His serves are strong enough to leave an impression in their opponents - and even if, by chance, they manage to receive it –he is just as lethal in the back row, as he is in the front.

Terushima plans to fully exhaust the abilities of his ace. A good, strong start will be the foundation on which they can build up their game. Their strategy is easy like this. Terushima is actually pretty proud of coming up with it all alone (as coach Ukai has stepped up as the referee and withdrew from his role as coach for the duration of the match); it is simple, yet effective.

Yet, his pride and confidence lasts only until Azumane's ball crosses over the net.

Tsukishima Akiteru receives the serve without much of a hitch, and places the ball in front of the setter effortlessly.

Ueno is a setter of few movements. He jumps up to meet the ball ever so slightly, only touching it with the tips of his fingers. His form does not indicate which way he will pass, and he is not shouting out the names of his teammates which could be caught by his opponents. He twists the ball as he lets it fly. The ball rises higher than what Terushima would deem necessary. Still, the connection is made perfectly, and the next moment the ball smashes into the floor of the court right behind the block.

Tsukishima Akiteru smiles triumphantly after his successful spike. Terushima hears Bobata swearing.

"Don't mind! We will get their next serve, and receive it twice as flashy," he says to his team.

"That's it!" shouts Nishinoya reassuringly from the sidelines.

"Yamaguchi, nice serve!" comes the cheering from the seniors' team.

Terushima said that he would like to receive the freshman's tricky serve himself, yet when the boy's jump floater shakes just a bit right in front of his eyes, before making a sudden drop, he dives in with a loud curse on his lip. He still manages to get the ball up, and it makes him somewhat happy and proud.

"Sorry, Futamata," he shouts.

"No problem, sir," the setter says in a humming tone before jumping sideways up in the air.

He is the most flexible member of the team. His agility is unparalleled, his jumps are energetic, and his legs are long enough to cover big distances in a short time. He is the perfect fit of a setter to a team which has a chaotic, playful style like Karasuji. Yet, thanks to this, his attacking style is much more predictable than that of Ueno.

"Senpai!" Futamata shouts as he lets the ball go fly above the court. Azumane jumps from the back row and smashes the ball with real ferocity over the net.

It's a wonder how Tsukishima can pick it up again. This time Ueno tosses to Hinata - it's a tentative, slow, and long toss, which gives time to the small middle blocker to decide on his attack. Well, given Hinata's senses, Terushima is still pretty sure that the boy will end up smashing the ball right into the wall of Bobata and himself.

In one short week, however, people are able to evolve and develop.

Terushima's jaw literally drops as the kid softens his sharp spiking motion mid-air, into a gentle tap.

"Faint!" Terushima shouts.

"On it," he hears Futamata's voice. The ball drops behind the block, but bounces back from the arms of the setter.

"Damn, you…" murmurs Terushima under his breath, picking up the rhythm again, and right after he landed from his block, he jumps right back to set across the court to Numajiri waiting for the ball.

"Nice kill! Our first point!" Nishinoya shouts when Ukai's whistle blows.

"Finally," Terushima huffs.

"It’s too early for you to be sulking. We are not even two minutes into the game," Bobata says.

"That damn older brother picks up Azumane-senpai's balls as if they were nothing," Terushima nags.

"We are still making progress," Futamata pats his shoulder. "Your serve."

Terushima forgets his protests immediately. He marches to the serving spot with a small, budding hope. His jump serves are weaker and less precise than Azumane's, but they are more unpredictable as well. Also, he smiles to himself, the opponent team (apart from Hinata and Yamaguchi, both whom are struggling to receive his serves) knows nothing of his style.

He scores three consecutive points before one of his balls is successfully picked up. It's surprisingly Ueno, the setter, who receives his ball.

"Sorry, senpai, cover!" he shouts, lifting the ball up above the net. Tsukishima follows with a straight spike away from the two-man block of Bobata and Numajiri, but he places the ball right in front of Azumane, who receives it easily.

Futamata looks around, and makes a weird face away from the net. He looks just like as if he smelled something disgusting.

Terushima doesn't realize it's a sign, until all of the other players on his side of the court start moving at the same time.

'A synchronized attack?!' he gasps, feet stuck on the ground, and he watches in daze as his team carries out an attack they could never do before. Futamata passes the ball in the last moment for a quick attack to Numajiri, but the spike meets Hinata's block, and gets back in air.

"Free ball," Bobata shouts.

"Leave it to me," says Terushima before jumping mid-air to spike the ball straight back to the enemy territory.

Tsukishima picks up the ball. Ueno is in the air in a second, and tosses to one of the wing spikers. They score before Terushima can figure out what is happening.

"Or you thought so," he hears Tsukishima saying over the net. "Not so confidently, fresh Captain-san."

Then the first set goes down in an alarmingly fast tempo. The seniors' team reads Azumane like a book, and no matter how forcefully the third year smashes through the block, the libero still manages to pick up the ball. Futamata gets more and more impatient, his urge to do everything on his own causes Terushima to toss a few more balls than necessary. Numajiri seems to be straight out panicked when his crosses are caught one-by-one by either Tsukishima or the libero, who changes in in place of Hinata and Yamaguchi.

On the other hand, Ueno manages to synchronize with Hinata more and more. Yamaguchi fails a few receives which give openings to Terushima's team, and they manage to get back a few points thanks to Nishinoya's amazing saves, but they are still far from 20 points by the time the seniors score their 25th.

The whistle that marks the end of the first set takes Terushima by surprise.

"Already?" he asks, desperate.

"This is just too much," Numajiri says. "No matter where I shoot, there is always someone to receive."

"Their blocks are quite soft, they don't kill spikes as much as I predicted, still, they manage to tame our attacks successfully," Bobata analyses.

"You are great, Bo," Terushima says, an irritated huff escaping his lips while grabbing a towel from Runa-chan. "I can't believe you manage to stay calm."

"Well, someone has to, huh?" his friend replies. Terushima stares at him unbelievingly. Bobata sighs. "The old coach visited us while you were enjoying your sweet time off," he explains. "And he gave each of us a little homework."

"And yours is to analyse the opponent's play?" Terushima asks, grabbing two bottle of energy drinks and handing one over to Bobata. The tall guy nods seriously.

"He said we are a team with no head. No brains."

"That's not very nice of him."

"Well, he said harsher things while he was the coach."

"He did."

"He came by last Monday and checked out our play. He told me that I seem to be an observant kid."

"So you aspire to be the team's brain, huh?" Terushima laughs.

"Yeah. Probably. Something like that," agrees Bobata still totally serious. "If it takes us closer to the Nationals, why not? I am the vice-captain, after all."

"So, then... any observations so far?"

"They play so hatefully," Bobata replies. Terushima snorts in frustration. The sudden outburst can’t catch the tall blocker off-guard, he got used to the tempers of Terushima long ago, so he continues. “They do soft blocking and go for one touches with players like Numajiri or you, whose spikes are not super heavy. For the types of Azumane and Tanaka, they narrow down the trajectory of the attack. Two blockers, three players on the cross. Their libero is crazy good, he catches anything…"

"Yeah, so... any ideas how to get through them?" asks Terushima, not a bit, but a lot hurt by Bobata's words. To make it sound like his spikes are much weaker compared to Tanaka’s.

Bobata frowns his brows.

"More synchronized attacks? We practiced quite a lot while you were away... or two-setter plays with Futamata and Numajiri? Or you and Futamata?"

"Come on."

"We can have Asahi-senpai kick their asses."

"Bo, I think we need something more than that."

"Well," joins in the conversation Azumane, as the others gather around them one-by-one to listen in. "I admit that the seniors seem to read me easily."

"But you didn't show your full power yet, Asahi!" Nishinoya smacks the ace in the back. His ever-contagious smile seems to lighten up the atmosphere instantly. "Also, we didn't showcase our true form, right? We fell into their pace, and let them rule the court for a set, but hey, what if we play our usual style?"

"You mean?" Terushima asks back.

"I feel like all of you," Nishinoya says, smacking each of them respectively, "are lacking confidence today. As if Rin's little speech about the importance of this match has gotten so into your head you can't get it out. Or as if the fact that these guys got into Nationals made you all dull."

"But..." starts Numajiri. He takes it quite personally that Nishinoya considers his talk before the game as one of the reasons they are losing.

"No buts!" counters the libero. "Replace the desperate though of 'we need to win this' with the fact that 'we can win this'! We practiced more than any other team. Our practices were so harsh that Tsukishima quit. The Tsukishima, who is that guy's little brother,” he continues, pointing at the opponent’s captain with a wide motion, “ran away from our practices. Now, should we let his older brother give us a beating?"

"No!" replies Tanaka.

"Of course not," repeats Terushima. He is not too sure whether by boosting their optimism they can get a hold of the flow or not, but he knows that Nishinoya is right about that they don’t play their best. "Speaking about possible ways to kick their asses.”

“Yeah?” Nishinoya asks. His encouragement makes Terushima a bit embarrassed.

“Well, first of all, I think Bo’s idea to play more synchronized attacks is great. While I haven’t been to the practices, and truthfully, I had no idea when Futamata gave out his sign; I think I might be able to adapt to the attacks in a few attempts, and I think you guys did a wonderful job to develop a weapon that can be really useful against their blockers. As for their receives…”

“We just have to hit harder,” Tanaka cuts in.

“And sharper,” Numajiri adds.

“We can do that,” Bobata says.

Terushima feels like there is more behind their words than reassurance. It’s forgiveness. Their resentment towards him is disappearing right before his eyes. Yes, he missed one week of practice due to his owl foolishness. But he is still their captain. His thoughts are turned back to the conversation when he hears his ace speaking up.

“Yes. We can do it,” Azumane agrees, and suddenly everyone goes silent. “Hit where they cannot reach or hit harder; it’s all possible,” he continues.

Terushima, along with the rest of the team, looks at Azumane in awe. Tanaka even drops his jaw. The usually jumpy and jittery third year stands proud and straight, with his head held high, chest out, chin up; pride painting his cheeks rosy.

“This is the team we refined. I believe in this team, and every member of it. I don’t doubt you will be able to overcome this challenge and I swear I will do my very best to make my senpais all forget about the picture they had of me as well. I will recreate the image of Azumane Asahi, not as the first year they knew, but as the ace of this team!”

And, while everyone gasps in admiration, it’s Futamata who starts to laugh.

“Oh, boy,” he starts. “Are we really that panicked by this bunch of uni students and who-know-what’s that we actually managed to bring out Azumane-senpai’s macho mode?”

*

The second set brings surprising changes to the flow of the game: Numajiri manages to spike so very close to the net, that the ball actually touches the ground between the net and the blocker; Yamaguchi messes up his first serve that leaves its mark on his play afterwards; Tanaka gets way louder, encouraging his fellow second years; and Azumane proves his words.

They fight, struggle for each and every point, slowly accumulating points. They defend. They go after each and every ball, running crazy around the court. They play their style. The points reach the thirties by the time they manage to break away from the senior team.

They win the second set.

In the third, everyone tries more than their best. Azumane blasts through the block as if they are not even there. Tanaka smashes balls down with such ferocity they’ve never seen from him. Nishinoya returns even the most impossible shots. Hinata jumps faster and higher than anyone. Yamaguchi alone gets five consecutive points to the senior team, only to be returned by Numajiri’s soft, but tricky serves; followed by the entire team’s efforts to return all balls crossing the net.

As for Terushima, he keeps his promise on the synchronized attacks. It takes him three attempts to send a back attack right over the net, but the first point he successfully scores makes him overjoyed: the feeling of jumping together and moving in synchrony with everyone on their team makes him feel as if they were not individuals, but one big, breathing body for a second.

“Nice,” Futamata jumps on his back in celebration. “The last set is ours!”

“You are not our captain solely by pure luck, huh?” Tanaka says, nudging Terushima’s head adoringly.

“Of course not,” says Bobata and gives a high five to Terushima.

“Well done!” says Misaki running onto the court.

“Now, now,” Ukai says, coming onto the court. “This was spectacular.”

“Agreed,” joins in Ueno from the other side of the court. Even with his near-perfect form, he had his fair share of running in this match, which makes him all sweaty and breathing loudly. Terushima quickly realizes that the seniors all look tired. It makes him proud. Even if they won only by an inch – and luck often was on their side – they managed to truly make their seniors run for their money, and they actually won over the team that twice in a row made their way into the Nationals.

Pride paints a faint smile over Terushima’s lips. His deal with Sawamura doesn’t seem as impossible as he first thought.

After the match, he talks with Tsukishima Akiteru for a short while before he goes back to the changing room. That’s when he has to truly face his team for the first time after his suspension. They had no time before practice, and their strategic meetings during the match against the seniors were not really the time to speak about his suspension, so he gets his heart ready, once again, to say his apologies to the team. He bows to them as soon as he enters the changing room.

“I am truly, deeply sorry,” he says. “My reckless actions put the team in danger.”

A hand pushes his head even further down, making him to lose his balance, and nearly fall down.

“Ouch,” he comments, as Tanaka’s fingers pluck out a few hairs as the other boy ruffles through his hair.

“You dumb idiot,” Tanaka says.

“Admitting to smoking? Really?” Numajiri laughs.

“You know Sawamura can make the best traps for people, yet you walked straight into it,” comments Bobata.

“It’s not advisable to pick on a dangerous opponent,” Yamaguchi says, “only, if you can win them over, senpai.”

“Win over? Sawamura?” Terushima asks back in disbelief. “The North Pole melts before he would show a spec of sympathy for someone like me.”

“I’m sure you will manage,” laughs Nishinoya. “After all, you could make a deal with him, didn’t you?”

Futamata suddenly jumps up from the bench to walk up to Terushima and he stares at him with puppy eyes.

“So… can we see it?” the boy asks.

“See what?”

“That infamous contract of yours,” the setter smiles widely. “The five points Sawamura Daichi makes Terushima Yuuji do.”

“You stinky bastard, you make it sound perverted,” murmurs Terushima but he laughs together with his team. “Alright, if you must,” he gives in, opening his bag. “Here you go,” he starts, when Nishinoya tears the paper out of his hands.

“I, Terushima Yuuji, hereby promise to follow the orders of Sawamura Daichi…” the libero starts reading aloud.

“Ohoho!” Futamata whistles. Tanaka joins in. Azumane chuckles a bit.

“… and, in compliance with the school regulations…”

“Oh, my, Yuuji, following the regulations?” laughs Bobata. Numajiri snorts softly behind him.

“… I vow to accomplish the following, by the end of the school year:”

Nishinoya stops for a moment; a rather long and theatrical one, before he continues.

“No.1. I will attend all the remaining classes with a 100% participation rate.”

“That’s tough,” Numajiri comments.

“Does this mean you cannot skip, or that you cannot even sleep during classes?” asks Tanaka.

“No.2. I will score within the top 5 on the next test.”

“WHAAAT?! IS THAT POSSIBLE?” howls Hinata.

“Yeah, that’s no big deal,” Numajiri says. “Not for Terushima.”

“HOW?” the boy continues. “I can only get in the top 5… from the bottom!”

“Surprisingly, your captain is not as dumb as he seems,” says Futamata.

“Surprisingly?” snaps Terushima. “And what does ‘as he seems’ mean?”

“He is actually the top-scorer within the team, as ridiculous as it sounds,” adds Numajiri.

“Enough, you two!” Terushima says.

“Oh, boy, number three is some real shit.” Nishinoya gasps then making everyone fall in silence again.

“What is it?” comes from Yamaguchi.

“No.3. I will make Tsukishima Kei re-join the volleyball club.”

“Tsukki!”

“Wow.”

“That’s grave.”

“Man… What did you get yourself into?” Tanaka pats Terushima’s shoulder compassionately.

“So that’s why you spoke so much with Aki-san, senpai,” gasps Yamaguchi. “If you need any help… I… I am willing to help!”

“Yeah, me too,” says Hinata quickly.

“Hinata, Tsukishima doesn’t even like you,” comments Bobata.

“Count me in as well,” Azumane says. “Maybe if a third year asks…”

“Asahi, you are just as charismatic as a turtle. Speech-wise,” says Nishinoya. “But anyway, I doubt it would be easy to make Tsukishima come back.”

“I promised. So he will,” Terushima says.

“Captain, for a moment you were just as cool as Noya-senpai!” Hinata says with sparkly eyes.

“Go to the fourth point already, Noya,” Futamata nags.

“No.4. The Karasuji volleyball team will get into the Nationals once again. Hell yeah!” Nishinoya says.

“Of course!” comes from more than one place at the same time.

“There’s no questioning it,” says Bobata.

“We will try our best” comments Azumane.

“What is the fifth?” asks Futamata. “Apart from getting Tsukishima back to the team, so far everything was quite evident, where is the twist?”

“For Tsukki to come back, that’s quite a hurdle,” Yamaguchi notes. “He is far more stubborn than it seems.”

“But still,” continues Futamata. “Nothing interesting.”

“Here, you can read it if you want,” passes Nishinoya the paper to the setter.

Terushima lays his head on his arms. “Laugh as much as you want,” he says.

Futamata grimaces as he plops down to the bench. “Boring,” he says. “If you comply the school regulations, this point is so useless to add.”

“Why? What does it say?” asks Tanaka, peeking from behind the setter.

“No smoking on the school grounds.”

“That’s it?” the spiker asks back. Futamata nods.

“Pff,” Numajiri snorts. “I thought there would be much more… it was the final point as well.”

 “Yeah,” Futamata says, grimacing again. “Lame.”

“Alright, enough of your fun at my expense,” Terushima says, stealing his paper back from his teammates. “Go shower and dress. We can’t stay after school closes!”

“Ooh, I can feel the power of the brand new, rule abiding Terushima Yuuji!” Tanaka teases.

“Such a shining, exemplary young man!” Nishinoya adds.

Futamata, who was so unhappy just a moment ago, now literally falls off the bench laughing.

“Come on,” Bobata pulls the setter up from the floor. “Get your act together, we have to get going,” he hushes Futamata in the direction of the showers.

“True,” Numajiri agrees, joining them.

Before he could enter the showers with the others, Yamaguchi catches Terushima’s attention. He types fervently and fast on his phone, then, with a victorious smile on his face, he looks up. “Goodbye, senpais!” he jumps up from the bench, still in his volleyball jersey. “I gotta go.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Terushima asks.

“I am going home with Tsukki,” the boy explains, and he gives a thumbs up to Terushima. The captain has to blink twice to make sure he is not hallucinating. Spotting his senpai’s confusion, Yamaguchi smiles shyly, then waves goodbye to everyone and leaves quickly.

“He didn’t even take a shower,” Terushima remarks.

“Let him be,” Azumane starts, only to be cut by Nishinoya.

“Ryuu doesn’t tend to, either,” the libero says, in a loud voice.

“No wonder he can’t get a girl,” they hear Bobata snickering from the showers.

“You…” Tanaka stands, angrily waving his towel around while marching to the shower himself. “Just because you got a confession, you suddenly became so cocky!” the boy complaints.

“Got confessed to?” Terushima asks. Tanaka comes back from the showers, and wanders around the changing room aimless and restless, like a lost child.

“It happened while you were ‘suffering at home’,” Nishinoya explains.

“It was forged though,” Bobata notes, coming out of the shower all fresh and steamy.

“Tale says that one day a group of first years played a game in the astronomy club, and the loser had to confess to their crush.” Numajiri joins in. “And Bo’s neighbour lost the game.”

“The one who often visits our games?”

“The one that often visits our games,” Futamata nods.

“She didn’t want to admit to her group that she had actually confessed to the guy she likes last week and she got rejected, so she asked me to act out the part,” Bobata says.

“And you played the knight so fine!” Futamata says.

“It was not real, but our Tanaka Ryuunosuke took it to heart,” Bobata finishes.

Terushima gets under the hot water, sighing soundly.

“What else did I miss?” he asks. His question, though intended to be rhetorical, gets an instant answer from Nishinoya, whose voice, though comes from the changing room, still resonates in the shower.

“The third year couple scandal!” he shouts.

“True, that happened last week as well,” Futamata says and he stops shampooing his hair for a moment to muse over the thing. “Well, actually that also was a huge blow to Tanaka.”

“I bet it was a huge blow to all of us,” Bobata comments. “I wonder how Asahi-senpai could keep it a secret from us.”

“Yeah, senpai,” Futamata turns to Azumane, who has already finished with his shower, and is in the middle of changing into his school uniform. “I would’ve never thought that you can keep such vital things a secret from your team.”

“Why? What happened?” asks Terushima, drying his hair with a towel.

Nobody replies for a while, busy with drying themselves and dressing.

Nishinoya pulls the remaining Tanaka and Hinata under the shower, kicking the others, who have already washed out to the changing room.

“Who are the third year couple and what is the scandal all about?” Terushima asks again jumping one-legged, trying to get socks on his feet.

“You could say it’s a story about forbidden love,” Numajiri says.

Azumane turns away, seemingly flustered, packing his bag quickly.

“Well, the story involves the committee as well,” Futamata adds.

“Good night, boys,” says Azumane, almost abruptly, and walks out of the room before even looking back. Terushima has a bad feeling about his leave. He is so unwilling to figure out the whole story, but he feels that he needs to, in case he wants to avoid another disaster. His suspension caused enough excitement right before the preliminaries.

“Senpai must feel uncomfortable,” Bobata sighs. “Nishinoya shouldn’t have brought up this topic in front of him.”

“It was rather inconsiderate indeed. Now I kinda feel bad,” Futamata notes.

“Are you able of that?” Terushima asks back. He has no idea what his teammates are hinting about, but he could see clearly how flustered his ace became, and he wants nothing less than a new drama within the team.

Futamata hushes him, and changes the topic as if nothing happened. The other boys join pretty quickly: they analyse the form of the senior team, and note the tricks they could learn from them. Terushima is happy for their enthusiasm about volleyball, but he can’t hush his own feeling of worry. He quickly finishes changing and starts for the door.

“See you all tomorrow,” he says leaving to find Azumane.

*

The sun has already set, leaving a slight rosy hue on the horizon. Terushima walks fast towards the school gate to catch up with Azumane. Cool evening breeze gets caught in between his wet stands of hair as he speeds up his pace. He passes by the second year wing, and walks past the main building without a side glance. He is determined to draw near Azumane before the third year could exit the gates and take a bus or so.

When he heard the boys mentioning some third year scandal it piqued his interest, but didn’t think it could have anything to do with Azumane. His senpai’s reaction took him by surprise.

Azumane doesn’t seem the type to do anything scandalous – especially not something that could be labelled as forbidden love.

Terushima catches a glimpse of Azumane’s bun between the branches of the old oak tree hiding the school gate from his view. He speeds up even more; by the time he reaches there, he is basically running. When he finally spots Azumane, a sigh of relief escapes his throat, only to be stopped by a smaller, surprised “oh”.

The third year is not alone.

Next to him stands Sawamura of all people.

Just by their positions, Terushima can tell right away that the committee chairman has been waiting for Azumane, who has just arrived seconds before. Sawamura is pushing himself away from the gate he was leaning against just a second ago, and pats Azumane on the back encouragingly. Azumane laughs shortly, but he seems quite sad. Terushima can see Sawamura smiling, and he tells something to Azumane that makes the other boy shrug.

Terushima wonders whether the scandal could be about, let’s say, a forbidden love between Azumane and Sawamura, but he dismisses the idea pretty quickly.

What made his senpai react so bitterly? All he knows is that it was something about a third year couple, and a forbidden love which involves the committee. He simply could not picture Azumane and Sawamura together… or more like, he doesn’t want to.

His heart beats stronger than it should, and he is less than convinced by the lie his brain tries to make him believe in. This is not from all that running during the match. It’s a different way of a strong heartbeat.

He stops abruptly, both in thought and steps, when Azumane spots him.

“Azumane-senpai!” he calls out, instinctively, towards the older boy.

The third year smiles at him and waves him goodbye. He seems to be troubled, but his smile is genuine.

Terushima feels no power in his legs to continue walking.

He waves back at his senpai.

He can’t help but catches the smirk on Sawamura’s face. He seems proud for some reason.

A sudden wind blows through the school grounds which makes Terushima shiver.

It’s always the slightest detail that catches his eye.

It’s always the barely noticeable he falls for.

That weird shy smile that tries to hide a missing front tooth… that awkward hand movement Sawamura does to wave him goodbye makes him go crazy.

He… he refuses the idea of Azumane and Sawamura being together, but not for logical reasons, like: ‘Why would his own teammates bring up his scandal in front of him?’ or ‘Last week Azumane mentioned his girlfriend.’

His brain is blank, no logic can penetrate the void.

He doesn’t want Azumane to go out with Sawamura, because he finds Sawamura adorable.

His ears light up bright red as he watches the duo leave towards the bus stop. They laugh freely side-by-side.

The sky darkens rapidly, its pink tint turning greyish with the dusk.

Terushima Yuuji hopes that his blush cannot be seen from over the bus stop.

His fingers are itching. He feels like lighting a cigarette, though he is burning anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a typo left intentionally in there... I subconsciously wrote "his owl foolishness" once, then my dearest proofreads found it too cute to correct, so it stayed :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terushima's feelings get... complicated. Also, it's height measurement time! I planned to upload this chapter like... a year ago? Finally got the time to correct the scene that has been bugging me^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVE AND NOT GIVING UP ON THIS STORY!!!

Tuesday mornings have never been so nerve-wrecking.

Terushima walks towards the school gates with wary steps, his soles tingling as if thousands of ants were running under his feet. He wants to turn around, to run away, to sneak back under his blanket so badly. He wants to hide from the world because he feels hideous, and just about to explode.

It’s probably the very first ever day since the beginning of high school, that he has done his necktie properly; tucked his shirt in his pants and buttoned his jacket up. His fingers run through his well-coiffed hair nervously.

This goody-two-shoes attire suits him just as much as ice suits the surface of the Sun.

He feels absolutely disgusting.

He questions his life choices, and his hands itch to mess up his looks entirely, to be the good old Terushima – the one who may have been a loser oblivious to his own feelings but at least he could face himself in the mirror.

He gulps dryly upon noticing Ennoshita by the school gates. He feels jittery enough even without the sarcasm of the fellow second year.

The committee member raises one eyebrow ever so slightly.

“What a well-dressed gentleman,” he says softly. This is the thing Terushima envies the most in him: Ennoshita is able to insult people amicably.

“Good morning to you too, Ennoshita!” He returns the taunt with a wide smile, sticking his tongue out to show off his piercing.

“Ah, nothing is perfect,” Ennoshita sighs, and waves Terushima closer. “I have a message to relay, from our president.” Terushima’s heart skips a beat and he freezes in motion. “It’s not a trap,” Ennoshita chuckles at the boy’s expression. “Probably.”

He hands a folded piece of paper to the boy, then turns away to shout at some unruly freshmen.

Terushima gazes at his direction for a few seconds, waiting for some more information, some instruction, any tips coming from Ennoshita… but the committee member doesn’t pay attention to him anymore.

Confused, the boy heads for the classrooms, making a stop at the restrooms only to read the message in a place no one can see.

His hands are trembling – therefore he closes the lid of the toilet and sits on it firmly to evade any situation where he might drop the message into the flush water – and he unfolds the paper excruciatingly slowly.

The handwriting is neat; the characters are easy to read – but they don’t give off a spec of personality. They are just like Sawamura. Terushima snorts at the thought, carefully reading each and every word. The message is short and commanding:

“Meet me in the study room during first break.”

The boy contemplates crumpling the paper into a tiny ball and throw it out, but in the end he folds it back as it was and sinks it into his pocket.

When he enters the classroom, Bobata bursts out in a laughter, and several others follow. _Good boy Terushima_ soon becomes the mascot of the class.

“Man, my stomach still hurts,” the middle blocker says minutes later, after the first bell rang.

“Then head to the nurse’s office,” Terushima suggests. “Unfortunately I can’t accompany you as my attendance needs to be perfect until the end of the schoolyear, but I’m sure sensei would keenly appoint someone to assist you.”

“Oh, my. Same fashion comes with the same snarky attitude?”

“I think you meant sass,” Terushima says impishly. “Who are you comparing me to, anyway?”

“The company of exemplary men, of course. Lead by Sawamura Daichi, the vice is Ennoshita Chikara, and the little crown prince is none other than our wonderful ex-teammate, Tsukishima Kei!”

“You’re loud, Bo!” laughs Terushima shortly, silencing his friend just as the teacher enters the classroom. Terushima opens his notebook, hushing Bobata back to the territory of his own desk.

“Wake me up when it’s finished,” the middle blocker says, leaning his head down on his desk.

Terushima tries not to fall asleep. He really tries, for once.

He snorts at his friend’s remark and reaches for his pen. _‘World History,’_ he scribbles on top of a new page. He has only one notebook – he didn’t really take notes so far, so he didn’t really see the reason to buy more. He wonders if he will ever take notes, like every normal high schooler. His handwriting is such a mess, it’s possible he wouldn’t even be able to read his own notes later.

His thoughts wander off to Sawamura’s precise calligraphy – the neatly drawn strokes and evenly paced characters bug him.

Just as everything else related to Sawamura has always bugged him.

A sudden chill runs down his spine and a weird, heavy feeling settles itself in his stomach. He tries to ignore the growing nervousness, the panicky, faint fluttering, the dizziness, and the urge to gag and run.

He readies his heart. He tries to imagine Sawamura, back in the study room, reading his essay and taunting him; but he gets the opposite effect from desired: he is reminded of the shy, blushing smile, and the soft, confused laugh – and the memory of the embarrassed Sawamura Daichi does all kind of weird things to his body.

He crouches in his seat, drawing tiny stars on the margin of his notebook, uttering curses under his breath. The class feels excruciatingly long.

The teacher talks about the First World War, a topic Terushima would naturally be interested in, yet his brain refuses to take in the words.

All he can think about is that he will meet Sawamura in the break.

He groans painfully, drawing his stars with renewed vigour.

*

Before, whenever he found a girl he liked, he walked up to them and asked for their number. He was not always successful (oh, sometimes he pestered them, even) but he was still relatively popular and he didn’t pursue girls against their will too much, and lately, his sweet talking has almost always been fruitful.

He knows how to sweet talk girls. How to flirt subtly with the shy ones, and how to ask out openly those who hate reading between the lines.

But he has never loved a _guy_.

He has no idea how to sweet talk them or how to win them over or whether he really wants to try flirting with the chairman of the public morals committee _at all._

By the time the bell rings, his notebook is filled with stars and thunderbolts – and volleyball tactics, names of players to fear from other teams – and that stupid, smiling face of Sawamura with his missing front tooth, so adorable his stomach churns again.

Terushima feels weak to comply with the order on the note in his pocket but his pride doesn’t let him to run away. This is how he finds himself in front of the study room, message crumpled between his sweaty hands and heart throbbing in his throat. He hears a heavy ‘Come in!’ from the other side upon knocking on the door and he enters with knees trembling and brain fuzzy.

“What a sight,” Sawamura greets him. “To think you will wear your uniform compliant to the school regulations one day…”

“I have to do it, don’t I?” Terushima asks back. “I have to keep our agreement if I want to stick with my club.”

“I’d say you have to keep that agreement not to be expelled, but yes. Good to see that you know how to tuck in your shirt.”

“Was I called here to be mocked and taunted again?” the boy asks softly, only a hint of threat lingering in his voice. Sawamura raises an eyebrow and smiles.

“Don’t give me ideas,” he murmurs.

“Oh, my… I didn’t think the chairman of the public morals committee would think about bullying another student! Will we have a routine going on from today onwards? Will you send me more of these kind messages and order me around?”

Terushima is thankful that his heated speech gives reason for colour to rise on his face, otherwise he would be ashamed of the blush developing on his cheeks. He shouldn’t even admit it but for a split second he found the option of Sawamura bullying him _tempting_.

“Stop it,” the older boy says. “I don’t intend to make a routine out of this. I called you here to give you some advice.”

“Advice?”

“I’ve seen your practice match yesterday.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in volleyball,” Terushima starts.

“Your play in the beginning of the game was pathetic,” Sawamura says, disregarding the malicious comment of Terushima. “As a captain, you can’t doubt or waver. If you can’t even be confident about your stand and your own feelings, then the nationals will be completely impossible.”

Terushima can feel his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach.

“I have…” he starts.

“Enthusiasm. At best,” Sawamura cuts in finishing the sentence for him. “What you lack is dedication. You need to entirely commit yourself to the goal you set in front of you.”

“I am trying my best,” Terushima says. “And I got enough of your lectures.”

Sawamura sighs softly. “It’s not a lecture…”

“Oh, yes. Advice,” Terushima spits out the words, frustrated. “My bad for mistaking it.”

“Terushima. I meant it,” the other says, stepping closer. If only his face wouldn’t be so damn adorable, if only Terushima could concentrate on anything, but the honest and strict eyes, the cute little flutter of nostrils as Sawamura breathes out a sigh… if only his crush could recede by these condescending words, if only he was able to be truly angry, without that hint of dizziness and that weird pain in his stomach.

“Fuck off,” he murmurs quietly. He is shaking in fury as he stomps off, leaving the committee chairman behind in the study room.

He still takes in Sawamura’s words. It is true that he had no idea how to keep his team together and he became indecisive facing a strong opponent; but it hasn’t been long since he became the captain…

“Sorry for being such a failure,” he spouts at the corner, frightening two freshmen with his abrupt outrage.

“Sorry!” squeals one of the girls and they run off to the library. As Terushima looks after them apologetically, he notices the committee chairman exiting the study room.

His rage boils again as he swears to get back at Sawamura with some witty remark; but also butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach making all of his efforts ridiculous. Unsure whether he could survive even another glance at him, Terushima decides to run off before Sawamura could realize that he still didn’t leave.

*

“Have you ever felt the urge to punch and kiss a person at the same time?” Terushima asks after third period.

“You mean, like… nah, this doesn’t make any sense,” Bobata replies.

“But I really want to,” the boy insists.

“Honestly, I’m not sure I could still consider you my friend if you did that,” Bobata says flatly. “Punching a girl is not acceptable, man.”

“Ah,” Terushima gasps. That’s true. All he has ever shown interest in before were girls. “Would you accept it, if I said it was a guy?” he asks. “Theoretically speaking.”

“Theoretically,” Bobata starts and he gives a weird look to Terushima over his phone screen, “boys can punch each other. However, if you want to kiss someone, you shouldn’t punch them regardless of their gender. People don’t hit those who they love.”

“I love how big of a romantic you are,” Terushima says, clinging to his friend.

“Yeah, thanks,” Bobata replies. “By the way, how can you punch and kiss someone at the same time? Wouldn’t you punch yourself as well, then?”

“Bo, please stop thinking.”

Bobata laughs, then stands up from his desk.

“I suggest we start for the nurse’s office soon,” he says.

“Why?”

“We have medical check-ups fourth period.”

“This is the first time I hear about this,” says Terushima surprised, but follows his friend out to the corridor anyway.

“Ah, true, you were not here last week,” Bobata nods.

“And since no one communicated with me, I got no news,” Terushima adds. “It was a truly excruciating week.”

“Enough of your nagging, captain!” comes a cheerful voice from behind, and Futamata jumps on Terushima’s back as greeting. “Guess I grew a few millimetres since last time, I might have reached 180cm even!”

“Oh, look who is optimistic! You are still way shorter than me,” Bobata replies.

“How tall are you?” Terushima asks curiously.

“I was measured 185.9 cm last time, I can only hope that I grew that one millimetre since…”

“So nice,” Terushima says. “I guess I’m still 177ish.”

“Yeah, you didn’t grew much,” Futamata adds and receives a jab in the ribs for his comment.

“You know who grew a lot? Asahi-senpai!” says Bobata.

“You are around the same height, so you keep an eye out for him, huh?” asks Futamata jokingly. “Well, I do the same,” he laughs then, “Yamaguchi was a centimetre taller than me in the beginning of the school year. I think I might have surpassed him.”

Terushima falls in silence and while listening to his friends, his thoughts wander off. He finds Futamata’s theory intriguing. If he was to compare his growth to the teammates with similar heights, shouldn’t he worry about Tanaka? They were both 177.2 cm at the last check-up. He remembers because Tanaka threw a fit, complaining how Terushima has “copied his height”.

But really, it never bothered him.

Tanaka should have been his obvious rival, same grade, same position, same height… yet his eyes were forever fixated on Sawamura.

Yet he took pride in his 4 millimetres height difference to the third year.

“Is it possible, that I…?” he utters before he realizes that he nearly gave out his thoughts.

“That you?” Futamata asks back.

_‘That I had feelings much earlier than how I realized them_ ,’ Terushima thinks, but it’s something he would never dare to tell them, especially not to Futamata.

“That I didn’t grow. I think Tanaka is taller than me now,” he says instead.

“Well, well,” appears a predatory smile on Futamata’s lips. “We will see.”

“Hinata grew quite a lot! He is 164.2 now. He just wrote in the group chat on LINE,” says Bobata looking up from his phone. “Their class had med checks third period.”

“Lucky kid,” comments Futamata, then he adds mockingly: “If our captain doesn’t grow, he might end up the smallest on the team soon!”

*

The idea that he might have had something for the committee chairman prior to the day before plants itself into Terushima’s head, and by the time they arrive to the nurse’s office it spouts like weed to every inch of his body.

It’s always been Sawamura.

The one who catches him when he sneaks up to the rooftop for a smoke.

The one who finds him behind the gym or stops him by the school gates when he tries to skip classes.

The one who sends him to the self-study room to write apologies and nags him all the time.

It’s always been Sawamura.

And Terushima seems to be _thrilled_ every time he is caught.

(While his eyesight is checked, he ponders whether he has masochistic tendencies.)

“Terushima, come here let me measure your height and weight!” calls the nurse him over, and he follows her to the scale.

“The moment of truth!” whistles Futamata, who has been measured just before him, whispering. “If you really didn’t grow, captain, you will be one of the shortest!”

“Height: 177.4cm, weight: 63.3kg,” dictates the nurse to Nishinoya who volunteered to keep the records.

“Yuuji, you lost weight!” the libero exclaims. “A lot of weight, actually!”

“At least he grew a little,” says Futamata.

“We need to feed him better,” adds Bobata.

“Ok, thanks guys, you are really supportive,” Terushima hushes his friends away. He walks to the far side of the room, to look out of the window as if there was something important out there he needed. He only lets out the tiny little sigh of relief that’s been sitting on his lips ever since the nurse announced his height when he is sure none of the troublemakers can hear him.

His next breath hitches as a group of third years catch his eyes. They are running laps in the backyard. He instinctively finds Sawamura within the fragment of a second – the committee chairman sports his uniform flawlessly, standing by the side lines of the running track, stopwatch in hand.

His boring good-guy looks are flawless as ever. His short dark hair glistens in the sunshine, his flawless skin gleams. Terushima’s stomach takes a dangerous turn and he gulps on air as his heart rate rises.

The real rival has never been Sawamura Daichi. Yet, he always found him to be the opponent.

It has always been Sawamura.

Since the very first day the committee chairman blocked his way at the school entrance to criticise his uniform, Terushima had no one else on his mind.

He went to such extreme lengths as to bribe the nurse to get some information on Sawamura. He celebrated his victory of a 4 millimetres height difference as if he won a war.

“2 millimetres growth,” he murmurs softly. Barely anything. It could be his hair or the socks he is wearing.

He wonders how much the committee chairman might have grown. The fear that he might lose his perfect win over Sawamura is real.

The decision to somehow steal his medical records is made faster than how the Shinkansen crosses the country.

He has no plan but a bar of cheap chocolate in his pocket as he wanders off to the nurse’s office in lunch break. To his luck, he finds the room empty so he sneaks in quickly and heads straight to the cabinet where students’ files are stored. The drawers of the cabinet are labelled according to years and classes.

His gaze stops at third year, class four.

His fingers dig into the handle eagerly, but he can’t pry the drawer open. This is confidential information after all… really, what was he expecting?

He gets discouraged for a brief moment, but he is far from giving up.

He looks around. He knows that the school nurse is way too lax of a person to carry around the keys to the cabinet drawers. His eyes stop at the desk, all messy, piles of papers topped with empty, dirty mugs. He reaches for the drawer of the desk, pulling it out. A bunch of keys he finds, mostly unlabelled. He huffs in frustration, looking over the desk once again.

Then he spots it.

It’s under the freshest looking mug – coffee still somewhat liquid at the bottom – a nude brown folder with “3-4” on it.

Terushima lifts the mug with delicacy a china from the Han Dynasty deserves, and takes the folder out from below. He places the mug back and slides into the chair of the nurse. His fingers are shaky as he opens the folder and runs through the pages. He finds Sawamura’s data pretty easily.

_Sawamura Daichi. Birthday: 31 December. Height: 176.7 cm. Weight: 70.1 kg._

It’s a win.

Terushima closes the folder and places it back under the mug. He fixes the chair, so it looks like nobody touched it. He walks to one of the beds and lays down on it. He closes his eyes, covering his face with his palms.

Sawamura, rather than growing, has shrunken a millimetre.

A victorious little laugh leaves Terushima’s lips.

Simultaneously, the door to the nurse’s office opens.

“Excuse me,” says a voice way too familiar.  

Terushima is unwilling to move but wants to disappear at the same time.

“There was an accident during home economics,” the voice continues. The newcomer walks in, closing the door behind him. “Not here, huh?”

Terushima sits up.

“There’s nothing but failure here,” he says. His heart flutters so loud he wonders if Sawamura can hear his words.

“Oh,” the committee chairman says, stopping in his move. He holds his arm up in a bizarre angle, lifting his pointer finger up in front of him. He is bleeding an absurd lot, red streaks running down his forearm until his elbow. His shirt is tucked up until his shoulder. His face looks ridiculously stupid, blinking blankly and surprised at Terushima.

Terushima could drop dead or jump out the window this moment; yet he stands up briskly, walking to the committee chairman to examine his wound.

He finds the idea of a clumsy Sawamura unbearably cute.

He feels a sudden jumble of different urges: he would like to vomit, jump around, shout and scream and run away at the same time – but instead he walks to the small cupboard open to all students where the first aid kit is stored.

“Let me disinfect that,” he manages to say matter-of-factly, while his brain screeches and squeals incomprehensibly.

Sawamura seems to hesitate over accepting the offer for a second. Terushima decides that he is not ready for a reply – be it positive or negative – and he takes a gob of cotton wool, wrapping it around his bare finger, saturating it with disinfectant before the committee chairman could utter a word.

He grips the hand of Sawamura with his left, carefully swiping away the blood from the wound with his right. The older boy opens his mouth then closes it without saying anything. He seems rather meek, compared to his usual self.

Terushima tries to reason with himself. He tries to persuade his screaming brain that Sawamura only lets him help because he has cut his dominant hand… but how could he do so, when he was probably holding the knife in it?

Terushima stops in his movement for a second to analyse the possible factors that can lead to one cutting their dominant hand, only to drop the idea another second later.

He wraps gauze around the other’s finger, fastening it with a strip of plaster. 

“Done,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” Sawamura says, stepping away. His voice is barely audible. There is a hint of surprise in his voice; a whisper of a blush reddening his ears. He presses his lips together so tight they whiten. “And… sorry,” he breathes.

“Sorry for what?” Terushima asks.

“This morning. I was preaching.”

“Yeah, you were,” the boy says.

“I was condescending,” Sawamura continues.

“Yeah.”

One part of Terushima is overjoyed. The other feels chaotic. Frightened. Feverish.

He is not holding Sawamura’s hand anymore. He is not touching Sawamura in any way. Yet, he leans closer, ever so slightly.

Because he wants.

Four millimetres were nothing – seven millimetres seem even less, as he presses his lips on Sawamura’s. Skin touches skin shortly, shyly.

There is no reason, no intention and no thought behind it.

There is only craving, budding in the pit of Terushima’s stomach.

The world appears to be mute. Everything seems to be still. Terushima can’t hear, can’t see a thing. The only sensation that rolls in his brain is that Sawamura’s lips are chapped.

There is a sudden thud as someone’s bag hits the door. Laugh rises from the corridor; slivers of heated conversation filter through the door.

Terushima recognizes Futamata’s voice.

He comes to his senses at once, pushing the older boy aside by the shoulder, starting for the door. By the time his hands grasp the handle to pry the door open he is already running. He spots the brown head of the setter on the right, so he darts to the left. He sprints through the hallway without looking around, nearly knocking over a bunch of freshmen. He has no perception of time or space as he sprints, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches his class.

“… the heck you’ve been?” he hears Bobata. “Lunchbreak’s nearly over, come on, cafeteria time! I bet all the bread’s already sold!”

He faintly registers that his friend grabs his arm and pulls him out. He lets himself to be led.

*

Terushima Yuuji knows that he did something stupid - he knew the moment he did, but he did it anyway – yet the realization hits him harder than he imagined.

Sure, planting a peck on the committee chairman’s lips was not one of his brightest ideas, but when did he have a bright idea these past days?

At least, he thought, he could always run away.

Until it dawned on him that he has to be in school and attend all of his classes until the end of the school year unless he is ready to be expelled.

He has nowhere to run.

He sits next to his friend in the cafeteria and he can’t brush the feeling away that _everyone knows_ of what he did, and _everyone's watching_.

He wishes to be transparent, dead and forgotten at the same time.

Bobata inspects the situation intently and finds it highly critical. Terushima sits in his chair with limp limbs, eyes staring off to nothing. He has merely touched his lunch. His chopsticks abandoned, rolled far away on the table.

"Did it really surprise you so gravely?" Bobata asks, no sympathy in his voice. He asks about something he told Terushima a minute ago or so on the way, concerning the ‘third year scandal couple’ who were caught making out in the public morals committee room last week.

Terushima would love to answer. He would cheerfully declare that he is not bothered by the fact that the couple in question turned out to be Shimizu and Sugawara, if he could. But the overwhelming feeling of relief stops him from doing so and renders him passive.

He is so... so happy. He is delighted.

Not for Shimizu and Sugawara to be a couple; but for Azumane and Sawamura not to be one.

"Bo, I think I have a problem," he mumbles.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"It's love," Terushima adds.

"Poor you," his friend deadpans. “I hope it’s not so grave that you can’t continue with our mission; we are doing this for your sake after all.”

During lunch, they were supposed to finalize the plan to get Tsukishima back on the team.  Terushima knows for sure that he is in no condition to think, let alone to conspire with the boys. He is well-aware of the risk he takes if he doesn’t comply with all the points in Sawamura’s deal… but does it matter anymore?

He bits his lip annoyed.

“Alright,” he says softly. “I’m listening.”

“So, what I’ve wanted to tell you, is that Yamaguchi came up with a plan,” Bobata starts. Terushima leans closer, taking a wary look around. He spots Ennoshita on the other side of the cafeteria and drops his chopsticks into his soup.

‘What if he knows? What if Sawamura told him?’ he panics, fishing his chopsticks out of the bowl with fidgety motions.

“Yuuji, what on Earth do you do?” Bobata asks.

“Can we… probably continue with this plan on another day?” he whispers faint-heartedly, sinking slowly deeper into his chair. “I am not…”

“Yuuji,” Bobata stops him before he could disappear under the table. “Come on, get a grip. Don’t forget that we are all in a pinch thanks to you.”

“I… do you have time?”

“We don’t have much time until the end of lunch break, so…”

“Bo,” Terushima begs with puppy eyes. “Believe me, I am interested in the plan Yamaguchi came up with. I am more than willing to go along with anything. But today is no good…”

“No good.”

“It’s love,” he says. “And situation is grave enough that my brain can’t focus on anything else.”

“Is that so?” Bobata asks unimpressed.

“I did something terrible!” Terushima says, pushing his plate to the side and splaying all over the table.

“Yuuji. Your necktie is in my soup,” Bobata responds calmly pinching the piece of fabric and lifting it from his bowl.

“You won’t ask what I did?” Terushima asks, looking up helplessly.

“Not unless you want to talk about it,” Bobata says, munching on his rice.

“I want to, Bo! That’s what I’m trying to convey… but… I don’t know where to start.” Terushima huffs giving up. “I am as good as dead,” he whispers.

“Fine.” Bobata leans closer over the table. “Just what did you do?”

“I fell for the wrong person…”

“Hm.”

“And when I realized it, I became overly restless.”

“I faintly recall you asking me whether I’ve felt the urge to punch and kiss a person at the same time,” Bobata cuts in to hasten the conversation.

“And when I met them, even though I was angry, I couldn’t stop myself from helping them…”

“I don’t see anything terrible in this.”

“Then I kissed them,” Terushima says, hiding his head behind his arms.

“Forcibly?” the middle blocker’s expression darkens.

Terushima nods. “But that's not the worst,” he adds.

“Not the worst?” Bobata raises his head, wary of the tone of his friend’s voice.

“My… _affection_ is… quite _peculiar_.”

“Hm,” Bobata hums along, listening intently. “Is it a boy?”

“Wha-!” Terushima jumps in his seat.

“My bad if I got it wrong,” Bobata continues. “I just made a deduction from this morning’s talk…”

“Nah. You are right,” Terushima says and he presses his lips together strongly. “I have feelings for someone who has the _same equipment_ as me.”

“’Same equipment’, for God's sake, Yuuji,” Bobata snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Terushima shrugs. He is on the verge of a mental breakdown. He has to tell at least to Bobata, if no one else, otherwise he feels that he is going to explode. He knows Bobata since forever – same as Futamata, but with the exception that he actually trusts Bo – and he knows that even though the tall boy is outgoing and sociable, he knows when to keep his lips sealed.

Terushima gulps. All his feelings bottled up inside makes him feel as if there was a stopper in his throat.

“It’s Sawamura,” he breathes.

It’s Bobata’s turn to drop his chopsticks in his bowl.

Terushima – now, that his secret is out, and no one can take it back – takes a spoonful of rice, and munches on it.

“You crazy bastard,” Bobata mouths, barely audible.

“I told you so.”

It’s the calm before the storm. Then, from the corner of his eye, he notices Tsukishima, glancing at his way with a clearly disgusted expression on his face while Yamaguchi talks to him, and he is in shambles. The weight of his actions breeze the edge of his consciousness, and he starts shaking.

The rice won’t go down.

His thoughts wander off, reenacting the scene in the nurse’s office. Sawamura looked so cute, so charming and irresistible.

Terushima doesn't regret his decision.

But he is terrified by its consequences.

*

Breathing has never been so hard.

He walks back to the classroom in dead silence, following Bobata from a few steps’ distance. He is afraid to return to the class. What if it has already spread all around the school? What if everyone already knows? How will he be able to continue with his life and with volleyball?

He is mortified.

Every step is a struggle to take.

Few faces turn as he enters, even less rests on his face longer than a few seconds.

He sighs. Nothing extraordinary.

He makes his way to his desk, falling onto the desk top, burying his head under his arms.

Bobata lets him.

While the taller boy accepted the fact that Terushima’s crush is a boy with surprising ease, he is visibly shocked by the identity of his crush.

Terushima can't blame him. He is just as flabbergasted.

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I will not upload this until I finished the whole story because I write as fast as a sloth walks backwards riding a thousand snails... but well. Here we go. I hope you liked it, and see you in the next part!^^  
> 


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